To Reclaim the Past
by elle-nora
Summary: While Duncan MacLeod continues his desperate search for Kate Devaney, Methos and friends deal with the changing relationships of the immortals now on Niebos. Is the evil of Nestor about to destroy all they've hoped to build? Will the game begin again?
1. Prologue

_**To Reclaim the Past**_

_When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
__I summon up remembrance of things past,  
__I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
__And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste..._

from **_Sonnet 30_**, by William Shakespeare

**_Prologue_ **

_**City of the Parisii, June 410 C.E.:**_

It was finished.

Havron laid down his brush as he stared at the cavern walls. The grand design was complete. The various grouping of signs resolved to a fewer number that gradually rose up the walls of the cavern until arriving near the center of the cavern roof and arranging into a circle. He smiled.

"Do you really think they'll ever understand?"

Havron sighed, refusing to look at the naked being who lounged just out of sight. It had recently taken the form of his lost love Aja and seemed to know that doing so disturbed him. Only the glowing red eyes of the being altered the picture of perfection that was his memory of Aja lying beside him in their hovel thousands of years ago.

It moved, and in doing so broke the illusion that was Aja by crawling on hands and knees until it stopped before him. Rising, it licked its mouth and grimaced with a wicked chuckle.

Without concern, Havron gathered his brush and paint pots as he stood… still ignoring the being's attempts to garner his attention.

It laughed as if reading his mind. "You will not live to see it," it cooed. "Your death comes… sooner than you can imagine."

Again Havron bit his tongue to fight back the retort. To engage in conversation with the demon was to invite it into one's life and to give it power. He had learned this the hard way. Instead, he busied himself cleaning and stowing his supplies. He was done here. He doubted he'd return again. Crouching slightly, he headed for the hole in the cavern wall, wondering if he should at long last wall this place up. Behind him he left a single guttering torch that would soon go out, pitching the cavern into the blackness of time.

The being materialized in his path. Havron's eyes widened as he sucked in his breath. This time even the red in the eyes was under control. A non-existent breeze fluffed her long black hair and she looked at him pleadingly. Then he saw the blood streaked on her hands and body, and the sword in one hand while the child's head was in the other. The being had reproduced the exact moment that he'd closed his heart to Aja.

"Join me," the being said pleadingly in her voice. "You've fought against me for thousands of years. Yet you cannot destroy me unless you embrace me."

Havron stepped forward and through the illusion as if he didn't see it. He waved one hand dispassionately as if fending off the sword… but made no attempt to destroy the being.

It hissed in his ear as he passed. "I am a part of you. You may be the Champion of the People, but in the end… I will have your soul as well as all the others. I have prepared one for you. He comes… and with his coming you will be forced to finally take up a sword to protect the Others in this place as you have sworn to do… or you and they will die."

Havron stumbled slightly and paused as he considered the demon's words. He'd tried over and over throughout the centuries to find the path of peace and reclaim the world that once had been. He glanced back at the pattern still visible through the hole in the guttering torchlight. He'd found it… but it was a difficult path and not all the inheritors of the People would be able to follow it… nor should they. Too many had souls tainted by the "game" as they'd come to call it.

But the pattern would be here for those who did understand to find and decipher in time. His life was of no importance any longer. He could stand forward and die. It was time. He was weary. But if the challenger that the demon was bringing truly _was_ in its thrall… then he'd have a harder time stopping him. Havron shuddered.

"You begin to understand then," laughed the being. The blood had vanished from its body and hands. It raised them to his neck as it leaned its head against him. "Love me and you will live forever. I will grant unto you not just immortality… but eternal life. Instead of a ragged champion, half-mad from your battles with me, you can be a god."

Havron closed his eyes. It even smelled like Aja.

"I can even bring her back to you," it laughed. "Kill the one I send… take up his sword and all the world is yours to rule for eternity. If he kills you… then I am free and you will have failed as Champion."

Havron pushed through the being and left it laughing behind him. He'd periodically fought and kept the demon from bothering the world over the millennia. It seemed to gain power whenever one of the old ones died… one of the survivors of the great slaughter. Its continual presence here to plague him was a clear sign that its power was growing once more. Havron and Aja were likely the last of the ancient ones… if either of them died in combat… the demon might be free at last. She'd wandered by here a few centuries ago and had stood on the edge of the city looking at him with plaintive eyes.

He'd gone out to meet her.

"Kritis is dead," she'd said simply.

Havron had nodded. "Yes… I felt his death." He'd been awakened from sleep not long ago by the feel of the earth itself shuddering at Kritis' passing. Kritis… the eldest of the firstborn of the People. "I sent that boy of yours to him. I gave him your ring… the one Kritis made for us, so that Kritis would know he came from me. The boy's anger and his long history of senseless slaughter were things that I could not deal with. He wanted peace… but his anger had to be expiated. I had no way to do that."

Aja had looked into the distance. "I agree… yet I don't think Methos killed him. I think it was another." She leaned on her staff and closed her eyes. "I will have to journey there. Perhaps I can retrieve the sword."

"Still lusting after that thing," Havron had replied bitterly.

She'd glared at him as if stung by his words. "No. But it cannot be left there unattended. It is the keystone of your patterns." She'd smiled knowingly at him.

Havron had turned away. He would not forgive her for destroying all that they'd had. He understood that the same madness that taken her and Kritis had also been in the other groups of the People. He understood well that the demon had introduced the swords into their societies to gain their power and thereby free himself so that he could directly affect the mortal world. But Havron still could not forgive her. He never would.

That was the last time he'd seen her… and he'd wondered about her travels since then.

He climbed up the rocky tunnel until he stood once more in the sylvan grove that he'd called home for so long. Water bubbled at the spring and he knelt by it to clean his brushes and to wash his face and hands. Nearby… the mortal followers of the old ways were festooning the boughs of the trees with garlands of flowers. They hung small, lit lanterns amongst the boughs so that the glade sparkled like some magical place as if the very stars of night's blanket had come to Earth.

Havron smiled at the sight, recalling only now that mid-summer was at hand. He'd have much to do on this the shortest night of the year. He'd recently added some of the tenets of the new faith, Christianity, to the celebrations of the older one. It was essentially the same message… differing only in some its creeds. The path to peace needed to embrace all the faiths that the Others developed. It was the only way that true peace would ever be restored. _All must be one_, he thought.

Rising he stepped into his nearby hovel, feeling at once the light presence of the boy… Methos. True he was a grown man, as well as thousands of years old… but to Havron he was still a boy. Methos was sitting cross-legged, lost in his meditative reverie. He slowly opened one eye as Havron stowed his items.

"When do you let me see this project of yours?"

Havron smiled. "In time." It was always his answer to the boy. "You are impatient still. You must learn patience. All things will happen in time."

The boy had returned to him a decade ago. The anger about him was gone and he was ready to listen. "I still seek enlightenment from the eldest of us all," he'd asked with all deference, falling to one knee. "The one you sent me to released me from his service. He died not long after I left him." On the little finger of his right hand he still wore Aja's ring. He removed it and offered it to Havron who indicated he should keep it.

Havron had smiled, and then nodded and taken him on this time. "The path to the future is fraught with temptation," he'd told Methos. "You must harness temptation and ignore the easy path that is subject to violence. You must become as still and small as a stone. You must simply be… and allow time to pass you by. Only then will you begin to understand the patterns of life."

"You speak in riddles Old One," the boy had replied.

Havron had grinned and nodded. It was true. He did speak in riddles. Well Methos was still here. He'd persisted despite much of what he was doing involved meditation. He was "becoming" one of the People… though Havron doubted it would be accomplished any time soon. With the demon's warning of his own impending death… Havron feared that Methos would once more lose his way. Perhaps that was the plan of the demon. If he could force Havron to take up a sword and kill… then Methos would return to his dark path. If Havron died… would the boy insist on killing his killer? Either way… Havron feared that unless the boy understood to do nothing… the future would be lost.

He sat opposite Methos and crossed his legs. "One comes that I must meet in ritual combat."

Methos stared. "Who? Why? I don't understand!"

Havron nodded. "Nor do I. But you must not seek to interfere… nor to strike back if I am lost."

"I would protect you with my life. Only you have the answers I seek. Only you know the origins of us all. Tell me who we are! Tell me why we exist?"

"We were the People of the Mist… the People of the Standing Stones… the People of an Ancient Past. You are one of the inheritors of the world that is."

"Again with the riddles!" Methos said sharply as he swiftly stood to begin pacing. "You waste my time!"

"And you waste mine if this is how you feel, Methos," the Ancient One replied soothingly. "You need only do nothing… and all will happen as it must."

Methos stopped pacing and stared down at him. "How can non-violence in the face of atrocity be the answer? I was the nightmare for a thousand years. I know how truly evil men can be."

"And that is why you will be tempted. But you must not interfere. He comes soon. Do nothing… promise me this."

Methos turned away. "You're a fool Old One. You talk as if we have no free will to make our own choices."

"Oh… you have free will," chuckled Havron hearing the trappings of Christianity in that phrase. "Choice is always important… remember?"

Methos glared at him.

Havron drew the sign for "choice" in the dust. He smiled, recalling that it was Methos' habit of drawing the patterns in the dust when he'd first come that had caused Havron to understand that Aja had implanted memories in the boy somehow… memories that were buried deeply in his psyche.

Methos knelt and smoothed the dust with a thin smile. "I wish I understood those things."

"One day you will. Now you must swear to me that you will not retaliate or interfere in what is to come. Otherwise… you must leave here… now."

"If you die… I will never have the answers."

Havron smiled as he touched the boy's chest with one long finger. "The answers lie within you."

Methos shook his head thoughtfully. "I've meditated long and hard as you've taught. I went to Kritis as you ordered and learned all I could from him. He offered me his head. He knelt before me at the end and offered me his sword and his head. I don't understand!" He rose sharply and began once more to pace. "Kritis was a master of the blade and I learned more forms of combat from him than I thought possible. I learned how even an empty hand can be as powerful as a blade if it moves fast enough and hits the proper target. But I also learned to wait until I had to strike… and then to do so swiftly and without mercy. I learned that sometimes in the waiting… the strike _can_ be avoided. But I've never understood why he wanted me to kill him."

"Perhaps he was testing you to see if you'd finally gotten the point," Havron replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps if you'd grabbed at the sword… he'd have taken your head."

Methos froze and nodded. "Yes… perhaps that was it. But I left him. I didn't want to kill him. That much power could overwhelm an immortal. That much power… could level a mountain if not controlled. At Kritis' death… the mountain fell… and the inland sea boiled. That much power suddenly released onto one of us… could destroy an immortal or change him forever."

Havron nodded knowingly in agreement. "It could indeed."

Methos faced him, his mouth a small, "Oh" formed in understanding. "You think to change this immortal."

Havron shrugged. "I have no idea what you mean."

The singing amongst the trees had begun. Havron rose. "I must see to my children." He left the hovel to join the Others in celebrating the shortest night of the year… a time when true darkness existed for only a brief time… before light would return to the world. Havron's soul was at peace with his surroundings… and with the shadow of the future waiting to be born.

-----


	2. Part 1 From the Dawn of Time, Chapter 1

**Part One: _From the Dawn of Time_ **

**Chapter One**  
**Moscow, December 2023:**

Snow crunched underfoot. Behind his full beard, Duncan MacLeod smiled slightly at the feel of it. It was sign that maybe things weren't as bad as the doomsday pundits were saying. Winter had at last arrived in this northern city on the Volga. It had been thirty years since he'd last come here… shortly after the end of the Communist regime that had kept the land locked in an iron fist. He'd come with Amanda. Duncan smiled, watching the plumes of smoky air emanate from his nostrils and hang about his head. His beard would have small crystals of white before long.

Thoughts of Amanda always warmed him… even now. But Amanda was far away and hopefully warm and safe in Florence or perhaps on Niebos. He hadn't dared to contact her again after their recent brief telephone conversation when he'd told her that he'd shipped the long-sought after artifacts that Darius had long ago hidden, to the island home of their immortal friend Phillip, the self-proclaimed swordmaster of Alexander the Great. Duncan still didn't know if half the things Phillip told them weren't bombast and invention… but the man was old… and he was gifted.

Duncan beat his gloved hands about his shoulders and then blew on them as he regarded pedestrians and patrolling police on the street of older aristocratic houses that had seen better days. He was on a mission… a mission that had taken him from France to Russia… much of the way on foot. Following his challenge of an itinerant immortal and the resultant fire that had demolished a run-down mansion in eastern France, Duncan had learned that he was on Interpol's watch list. Authorities all over Europe were searching for Duncan MacLeod for suspicion of murder and arson.

Thus the beard, the set of carefully forged identity papers in his pocket, and the slow tortuous journey across two continents. He'd hiked, bummed rides occasionally, and just tried to vanish beneath the radar as he'd made his way east. He'd camped out under the stars as he'd often done in centuries past, sticking to side roads and little-traveled passes in this modern world. While he'd hated the slow progress he'd made… at least he'd finally made it to Moscow.

But from the general looks of the address Joe had given him… neither Alistair Craille nor Kate Devaney were here. Duncan wasn't yet close enough to know for certain… but the former grand home had an air of disrepair about it. As he stood watching it, an elderly grandmother, wearing a heavy coat and with a red scarf tied over her white hair, stepped out through the entry and began sweeping away the latest snowfall from the front steps. She moved briskly, although even from here, Duncan could tell that she moved with the grace of the elderly. For a moment he could recall the old grandmothers of his native village in Scotland, sweeping away the leaves from before their doorsteps. He smiled at the memory. Some things were universal… some things never changed.

A young woman, wearing a purple-dyed faux fur jacket and hat over thigh-high white boots, skipped through the doorway next and sauntered along the street toward him. Tendrils of red hair peeked out from under her hat and as she passed him, he could music emanating from the earplugs of her personal player. She evidently liked her music loud. Duncan chuckled, resisting the urge to follow her and strike up a conversation. But he did watch her until she turned the corner, taking in the gentle sway of her slim hips. The young woman was managing to look stylish and attractive, even swaddled in the omnipresent heavy clothing of a Moscow winter.

His attention returned to the old woman. She'd nearly finished the steps by this point. Likely she did this every morning. Last night's snowfall had been light, so the job today had been an easy one. Duncan focused on thinking in Russian and stepped out into the street, crossing amidst the cars to approach her. After bidding her "good day" he asked if he could help her. (She was attempting to knock off some icicles that had formed on overhead protuberances and was just missing them with her broom.)

She gave him an apple-cheeked smile and handed him the broom. Duncan told her to step back as he brushed the broom against the ice so that they crashed on the sidewalk about his feet. When he'd finished, he began to sweep the ice fragments to the curb. All the while he chatted about the weather, the unusual warmth of the winter, the dilapidated state of the neighborhood, the local police, and the cost of vodka at the local market. She answered easily; adding her personal, and quite humble opinion about the quality of the meat, and her sighs about the current state of the area.

"It was not always so run-down," she was saying as he swept away the ice. "Once, when my grandmother was a girl, this was one of the premier addresses in Moscow. Once… before the czar died."

Duncan nodded. "My grandfather used to tell me tales of his home near here."

The old woman's face brightened. "What was his name?"

"Gregori Abernov. His mother, Katerina Abernov had a summer estate near here. They had to leave after the Czar's death, or be executed."

"My grandmother was a governess in the Abernov household. Ah… my mother sometimes played with the countess' children. Perhaps my mother and your grandfather once played together.

Duncan smiled. He'd finished with the sweeping and handed her back her broom. "Perhaps."

"And your name young gentleman?"

"Dimitri Abernov," Duncan replied with a slight bow. He even had the papers to prove it should she request them… but he didn't think she would.

"You look cold. I have hot water for tea. You come in… yes?" She motioned him into the building. Duncan followed, pausing only to stomp the snow off of his booted feet before he stepped across the threshold and into the lobby.

The hallway inside smelled faintly of boiled cabbage, while lines of laundry were strung across the areas inside the staircase, which wound magnificently back and forth upward for four stories. Duncan glanced upward, still trying to sense an immortal presence. He felt nothing.

Anya Koschenko opened the door to her flat on the first floor to usher the Highlander inside. He saw grand old furniture, gathered over several generations, a bit thread-bare and worn, filling the intensely warm rooms.

"Please young gentleman, have a set," Anya said with a gesture. "I'll get the tea." Duncan took a seat on the edge of the overstuffed sofa, taking time to notice the collection of family photographs proudly displayed on an end table. One of them was of the young woman he'd known as Sofia Ivanova, the Abernov governess when he'd lived here just after the Communists had taken power here. He smiled. The time he'd taken to study and gather information on the current inhabitants of the address that Dawson had given him was paying off. He should be able to get some worthwhile information from Anya. Sometimes being an immortal and having first hand information about a mortal's ancestors was very helpful.

Glancing up as Anya, divested of coat and scarf, her white hair smoothed, and her hands holding a tea tray, Duncan rose, took the tray politely and set it carefully on a low table. Anya giggled slightly as she took a seat and poured the tea into the glasses. She handed one to Duncan.

Taking it by the silver filigreed handle, Duncan recalled glasses like these at the Abernov estate. Likely they'd found their way here. He sprinkled in some sugar and a lemon wedge, stirred and then sipped. "Delightful."

"An old family recipe," Anya beamed as she prepared and sipped her own.

Duncan indicated the photographs. "My grandfather had one of his governess, your grandmother." He reached over and picked up the framed photograph. "Yes?"

Anya nodded as Duncan had known she would. "Grandmother's wedding portrait," she was saying. "After the Countess Abernov and her children fled, my grandmother married my grandfather."

"She was lovely," Duncan mused aloud, recalling the young woman he'd known briefly. He was silent a moment and then set the photograph back where he'd found it and took another sip of his tea. "So you are the superintendent here?"

"I take care of the building and collect the rent payments," Anya nodded. "It's a living. Since my Karl died, I've been on my own."

Duncan offered his condolences. Then he hesitated… holding his breath.

"Yes?" she was saying. "There is something else?"

"Only a family matter. I'm certain it's nothing," he said, attempting to brush her off.

But Anya was intrigued by this point. "Anything I can help you with young sir, please… feel free to ask."

Duncan managed not to smile and made a great production about pulling out his wallet. "My sister… I believe she returned to Moscow some months ago." He pulled a photo of Kate from his wallet… sighed over it and then passed it on to Anya.

The old woman pursed her brow and then fumbled for a pair of plastic framed glasses. One lens was cracked, so she held her veiny hand over that eye while she held the photo up to her nose and stared at the picture. "Ah… _da_… of course. That is Katerina Marianna Dubchek. She and her husband Gregor were here in the fall. They had sublet the top floor from another tenant," she said satisfied and handed it back.

"_Da_…" agreed Duncan. "Katerina… Katya. They are no longer here?"

Anya shook her head. "She did not like Moscow. Even in September she said it was too cold. Too cold! We were in the midst of a heat wave! She was very thin. I think perhaps her blood was thin, too."

Duncan nodded agreeably. "Yes… she is very thin. She married someone the family did not approve of, and cut herself off from all of us. We are very concerned about her." He met Anya's gaze with a solemn expression and a sad demeanor. "My mother is very worried about her," he added, hoping that the lie sounded sincere.

With tears welling up in her eyes, the sympathetic landlady patted Duncan hand. "I understand all too well how it is. Things were better years ago I'm told. Today… young people do as they will and do not listen to the words of their elders." She leaned back in her chair, picking up her tea glass for another thoughtful sip.

"I tell you what I know. Not long after they moved in, a man came to see them. I did not like him. He was a gruff and foul-mouthed _Bolshevik_. Gregor… her husband… and the man had strong words that all could hear. They did not speak in Russian, mind you, but the intent was clear. Soon after, Gregor indicated that he would have to leave to take care of some business. Katerina… Katya… she was unhappy after that and wanted also to leave. She complained about what would happen to her if the weather turned bad and she was trapped here alone. They left together soon after."

"Did they leave any indication where they were going?" Duncan asked hopefully. September! Damn! They'd left likely about the same time as the earthquake in the Aegean Sea with its resultant _tsunami _in the region. He'd still been in France at that time… working his way east toward Germany. Surely his long journey here was not in vain. Surely there was some word… some clue he could find to continue his search for them.

Anya shook her head sadly… then snapped her fingers. "I do recall some mention of China. But with all the recent unrest there… it's not a safe place to be. Gregor did post a letter to Hong Kong not long before they left, though.

Duncan managed not to leap in joy. Hong Kong would be his next stop. What little he knew about Craille and from what Joe had told him, the man was a foppish eighteenth century Englishman. He'd inherited his "father's" estates upon the death of a much-loved elder brother. Alistair had been overseas in the army at the time. In later lifetimes, he'd continued to pursue a lackluster military career and had married well several times to bolster his flamboyant lifestyle. Never a major player in the game, Alistair Craille seem satisfied just to live a long life and to have fun doing so. Duncan had studied the information intently… and had seen nothing other than a wastrel who might or might not have Kate's best interests at heart.

For the thousandth time since he'd become involved with the two of them… he mentally kicked himself for putting the cart before the horse, as it were, and helping them to conceive a child… without warning them of the side effects. He sighed audibly. "My thanks to you for your help."

"I hope you find her," Anya said with solicitation. "After all… she is pregnant. You did know that didn't you."

Again Duncan kept from smiling. That was the first corroboration he'd had that Kate actually was pregnant. Now, if anything, he was even more determined to find her. "Yes… she wrote me about that some months ago," he said recalling her note to him. "Thus my attempts to locate her and assure her of her family's support." He smiled thinly. "I fear I have arrived to late to find her. It was… perhaps a fool's errand that brought me here."

Anya patted his hand. "You are a good boy to care so about his sister. I hope that you find her."

Shortly afterwards, Duncan replaced his fur hat and heavy jacket, bid Anya a fond goodbye and started out the door. He'd taken too long to get here… but he had an idea of where to go next. Hong Kong had been a British protectorate for a while. Alistair's properties seemed to be in places where he'd been posted over the centuries. Duncan was about to consider contacting Joe Dawson again to see if he could discover anything else when he heard the squeal of brakes behind him and then a second squeal ahead of him. Within moments, he realized that he was surrounded.

Looking up at the police cars positioning themselves around him as he had crossed the street, and the number of officers with their weapons trained on him, Duncan considered running. As more and more officers ranged themselves around him… even running seemed foolish at best. Slowly he raised his hands, clasped them behind his head and sank to his knees. Thankfully, his _katana_ was not on him. That definitely would have been hard to explain.

* * *

Reagan Cole had always loved the snow. She'd seen so little of it in her early life, except as something far away on top of the few mountains that she could see from the tip of southern England… that she routinely liked to head north at least once every few years, just to get the feel of the crisp winter air and to see the world transformed by snow.

Snow could make even the most wretched hovel seem quaint. Reagan blew lightly on the fur surrounding her neck. At least in a winter atmosphere, no one wondered about someone wearing a long coat. She rounded the corner at a fast clip, trying not to react to the presence of another immortal. Instead she paused, appearing to regard the contents of a shop window, when in reality, she was watching the reflections.

Then she saw him stomp a bit as he paused on the sidewalk, and tap the soles of his boots. He was looking around for her… trying to figure out exactly where she was. Reagan lowered her head slightly, glad that her hair was tucked up under her fur hat and that the coat hid her slim, athletic shape. She might yet surprise him.

She waited until he wandered further and then paused at the entrance to an alleyway. Grinning, she strode purposely toward him, grabbing him and pushing him swiftly into the alley and against the brick wall of a building.

"Looking for me?" she said lightly.

"Reagan? It _is_ you! Damn it woman… I just wanted to say hello."

Reagan released him so that Steven Keane turned to face her. He look relieved that it was actually her.

"Are you following me?" she asked teasingly.

Keane smiled. "As a matter of fact… no. But I thought it was you ahead of me. Good Lord I haven't seen you in years."

Reagan nodded. "I've been trying to keep a low profile. You?" The last time she'd seen the Englishman was when she'd found out about Watchers twelve years ago. Hers had approached her and warned her of a plot to take out immortals. The Watcher's information had led Reagan to Rome and to working with another immortal… an old acquaintance with whom she and other immortals had worked to destroy a threat to them all. Before Rome, she'd run across Keane and warned him to be careful and get out of sight.

"So back in the north… eh?" he asked, brushing at the snow on his coat-sleeves. His was dark charcoal gray cashmere… very expensive. He grabbed his coat collar and flicked it up. A pleasant grin crossed his face as he adjusted his neck-scarf and straightened his hat.

Reagan shifted her weight to one side and opened her mouth to say something else teasing… and then changed her mind. "What are you doing in Moscow?"

"I own a nightclub. A very successful one too."

"And you're not hunting?"

"Not for heads." He blushed and gestured with a wave. "That didn't come out right."

Laughing, Reagan slipped an arm into his and pulled him once more onto the street. The two of them walked companionably along the sidewalk. To anyone watching them, they appeared to be a young couple in love. They weren't of course. Not that they hadn't been lovers once upon a time, but that had been centuries ago. They were just old friends who kept alive the promise of intimacy yet to come. "As I recall… you took me to some hunting lodge in Scotland for a month one winter. You might recall how much fun I had."

"As I recall… you wanted to spend every blessed moment in the snow instead of being curled up on the floor with me before a roaring fire.

Regan stuck her tongue out at him. "We could sit before a fire anytime and anyplace. But snow… it is something that is only a moment in time and too quickly gone."

"You sound like a poet."

Reagan's smile widened. "Do I? Some of the language of my last lover must have rubbed off on me."

"Last lover?" Keane beat a gloved fist on his chest over his heart. "You cut me to the quick. And here I thought I was the love of your life."

"Only that winter," she winked. They were falling into an easy pace and a familiar dialogue… one that called up memories of days gone by. For immortals, their memories of their long lives were often frozen into moments that illuminated their past like a slow parade of photographs, or still-life paintings. So much of who they'd been and the day-to-day moments of their lives were forgotten… but some moments… like precious frozen moments carved in ice or painted on canvas were forever a part of who they now were.

"As I recall… I wished for warm weather and rain just so you would come inside," Keane was laughing.

"As I recall," she replied with a small smile, "it rained frequently."

"Not enough," he replied with a small, but honest smile.

They were turning the corner when the sound of squealing tires, police sirens and commands to "Halt" were heard ahead. The man being surrounded put his hands behind his head and dropped to his knees.

"MacLeod," breathed Reagan softly.

"MacLeod? Good! Someone finally caught the bastard," Keane spit hatefully.

Reagan glanced at him sharply. "You don't care for him? Why?"

"He's a murderer," Keane said with a sniff. "Oh I know he has friends who excuse his butcheries… but he's still a rogue and a villain."

Reagan pushed him away slightly. "Then you know nothing."

Keane sighed with a shake of his head. "Not you too."

For a moment Reagan wondered what he meant. "I know that he's an honorable man. I know he wants what's best for our people and that he's working with others to find a way to end the game so that all of us don't have to die."

"He's likely a conman as well," Keane added bitterly.

"No. He's not," Reagan said strongly. Then she turned to watch MacLeod being bundled off into a police van. "I need to go," she added.

"Why? To rescue him?"

Reagan regarded Keane sadly. "No. To find out what's going on. I have contacts within the Moscow police. If you want to join me… I won't say no… but I don't want to hear any more slander against MacLeod."

Keane opened his mouth to say something… but ended up saying nothing as he regarded Reagan's expression. She had always been a woman of strong passions and loyalty to friends. It was one of the reasons he'd so enjoyed her company long ago… and wanted to again. Finally he smiled and nodded. "Agreed. So who do you know in the police?"

Reagan smiled. "Ever been to Vegas?"

----


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**  
_**Paris, September 2023, three months earlier:**_

The weather was unusually warm for fall in Paris. Feeling the heat, even within the confines of the sacred grove where she spent most of her time, Alisaunne had decided that it was time to get out for a bit. Since Duncan and Amanda's visit in the summer, she'd been able to focus more on the here and now. There had been fewer and fewer instances of hearing the thoughts or sensing the emotions and desires of the immortal Nestor.

She still thought of him that way. True the immortal who'd raped her when she'd still been a teen and who had cut her skin and his to force her to be blood-bonded to him in a gross perversion of what the rite should have been… was dead and had been dead for nearly twenty years. And the one who'd killed him and taken his quickening, eventually succumbing to his power and becoming him was also dead. And the one who'd kill that one was trapped and dead… but still capable of reaching her thoughts occasionally.

_You're safe_, Duncan MacLeod had told her. _We'll never let him hurt you again_.

Alisaunne closed her eyes for a moment as she stood outside the nightclub. She so wanted just an evening of fun. She was still young and she frequently missed the company of others. She wanted to dance, have a drink, hook up with some young man, and forget who and what she was for a few hours. Finally the pulsing rhythm of the music from the club… rising and falling as its front door opened and closed repeatedly, finally seemed to echo in her very soul.

Opening her eyes, she licked her lips and strutted across the dark street, wet with rain, to enter the club. Alisaunne had dressed carefully this evening in her signature black attire, which announced to the men exactly why she was there. Thigh-high black vinyl boots… she liked the way they glistened… covered her legs. A short leather mini-skirt barely covered her hips and her top was little more than black lace that barely concealed her breasts. Over it all was her long, black leather coat with her weapons carefully concealed.

She thrust her hands out to the sides while the club bouncer ran the metal detecting wand over her. He wouldn't find anything. They never did. The lining of her coat provided protection against the omnipresence of such devices. Alisaunne nearly giggled as his hands ran lightly over her scantily clad form. He was aroused and she loved it. For one moment the vision of him with his throat slashed open crossed her mind. Hastily she buried it and waited for him to finish. When he did so, she blew him a kiss and strutted down onto the dance floor, easing along the edge until she reached the bar.

After ordering a drink, she positioned herself on a barstool and crossed her legs… luxuriating in the double takes and outright stares of the other patrons. Alisaunne des Pres had always loved to be the daring one… the one who would try things when none of her classmates would. Growing up without parents as a ward of the church had only strengthened her wild tendencies. All of her life she'd been in search of something. Of course once she'd found it… that she was immortal and doomed to eternal life and the rules of the game… she'd realized just how much work she'd have to do to be successful.

And mixed in with that were the confusions of what Nestor had done to her before her first death. Once she became immortal, she could hear him in her thoughts. Even learning that she did indeed have parents who'd never known about her, had not helped. They were just other immortals whose ages bordered, in appearances at least, the same as her own. It seemed strange to her that three twenty-something immortals in fact ran the gamut in age of five thousand plus, twelve hundred… and just short of forty. She laughed aloud. She didn't feel forty… she felt vibrant and young and alive.

The band's music hit a _crescendo_ and then stopped to the applause of the dancers. Alisaunne sighed, wanting to dance… but not really wanting to take her coat off. There were nights she did so… but not often.

Feeling the presence of another close by, she casually lifted her glass to her lips and sipped… cautious to appear unconcerned… as if she felt nothing at all. Then she saw him on the far side of the dance floor and was aware that he was staring intently at her.

Alisaunne mentally shrugged it off, turned to face the bar and order another drink. He stepped to her side and likewise motioned for a drink. "This is a nice place. Come here often?" he said pleasantly.

Alisaunne fought back a snicker. "That line is likely older than you are," she said with a smirk and met his gaze in the reflection of the mirror facing her.

He laughed. "You'd be surprised. And that line has often helped me to meet charming young ladies."

Laughing as she took her drink, from the bartender she said as she began to sip. "Sorry… neither."

The immortal leaned on the bar and offered her a silent toast. "Ah… then how about this one. I'm in Paris visiting. Care to show me the sights?"

Alisaunne could not help but laugh. He wasn't that funny, but he seemed so sincere. While she didn't think for a moment that he was safe the way Duncan was safe, she found herself warming to his advance. "And what sights would those be?" she replied teasingly.

He paused… his glass tipped to his lips… and then nodded. "Fair enough. I'm Ren by the way." He offered his hand, which she shook.

"Ali," she replied. "What kind of name is Ren? Sounds like a bird."

His infectious grin widened. "And what kind of name is Ali… sounds like a side-street.

She began to laugh softly and uncontrollably.

"What's so funny," he asked leaning next to her.

"There's something in the way you talk that reminds me of someone," Alisaunne finally admitted. "Where are you from?"

Ren shrugged as he took a drink. "Lots of places. You know how it is."

Alisaunne shook her head. "No… I've almost always lived in Paris."

"Almost?"

"Well… my teacher took me away for training. But I ended up back here."

"Why was that?"

Alisaunne was silent. There was no way to explain how she'd received the quickening of the ancient immortal that Darius had once killed. There was no way to make it clear that somehow that quickening had also created her and waited for her to grow up and become immortal. And there was no way to explain about the grove. "I just felt at home here," she finally said and gave Ren a slight smile.

"Home," he repeated and sighed deeply. "I haven't been home in years… and by home I mean where I grew up. I've been reluctant to see it as it is now… and not as how it was." His voice drifted off as his eyes glazed over momentarily, no doubt recalling his home as it once had been.

Laughing, Alisaunne tossed her dark haired head. She'd recently cut the hair short and had spiked it tonight with gel so that it gave her an untamed and dangerous look… or so she thought. "Maybe I'll feel that way when I'm older… if I leave here. But for now…" she shrugged. "Here I am."

"And here we are," Ren agreed.

"So why are you in Paris?"

Ren looked at her thoughtfully and then signaled for another drink as he polished off the one he had. "Funeral," he finally muttered.

Alisaunne waited… but he offered nothing further. Evidently they both had secrets. It was the way of immortals. When they met, even more than mortals, they had to be wary of what they said. Duncan had always warned her to give away as little as possible about who she was… and that was before she'd known that she was slightly different from other immortals.

"Dance?"

"Pardon?" she replied.

"Do you want to dance? Isn't that why you're here?"

Alisaunne smiled. She touched her coat lapel. "Not tonight."

Ren stared at the coat and then seemed to consider something. "I actually took a table over against the rear wall in a booth when I first came in. If you join me… you could safely leave it there while we dance." He gestured toward a currently deserted table that still had a drink set on it and a coat hanging on the back of a chair.

"I don't know…" she began.

"I don't think either of us want to make a scene in here. Let's just say truce for the evening so that we can both relax and enjoy the music." Ren gestured toward the band just finishing up another number. "So… dance?"

"Maybe just conversation to start with," Alisaunne replied, picking up her drink and sauntering toward the table. It was a beginning.

-----

Three hours later, the band played their last number. It had been a slow power ballad to finish off the set… and the two immortals by this time had let some of their inhibitions vanish enough that their tight clench on the dance floor held promises of possibilities.

With am audible sigh, Alisaunne pulled out of the clinch and fanned her face as she smiled. Ren blew out an audible burst of air and nodded. He slipped one hand into his pants pocket while he took her arm to return to his booth.

She leaned over to grab her coat, aware by its weight that her _wakizashi_ and _tanto_ were still there. Adjusting the coat on her she watched him don his own. For a moment she considered the implications of the two of them calmly walking out of here and heading to a deserted alley to duel to the death. When Ren smiled warmly at her, she had a feeling that wouldn't happen. But she was still uncertain what should happen.

Dawn was still a few hours away as they exited the closing nightclub with the other patrons. Most sauntered up the streets in pairs or small groups laughing and holding on to the warm moments of the final atmosphere of their evening.

Alisaunne remained in front of the club, still uncertain of her next move. If Ren had been mortal, she might have hooked up with him… but he was an immortal like herself… and he might well have designs on her head. Evidently he had the same concerns.

"So what now?"

Alisaunne chuckled. "Well I don't invite guys back to my place." It was the truth. She didn't want anyone in the grove… especially an immortal she didn't know. And her flat of rooms were also off-limits. She feared that Watchers would learn where she lived.

"True… not exactly safe. I have a hotel room near here if you're interested." His voice drifted off as he stared off into the distance.

Alisaunne laughed lightly. "I think maybe I'll pass."

Ren regarded her sadly. "Too bad." Taking one of her hands, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it gently… then let it go with a sigh. "Another time, fair maiden." Then he backed away, blew her a kiss with one hand and turned to leave.

"Wait," she called out. He turned back hopefully. "Whose funeral?"

Ren looked into the distance. Finally he seemed to come to a decision and met her gaze. "My last mortal wife died of cancer," he said softly when he was certain he wouldn't be overheard. "We've been divorced for nearly thirty years. If you're of a mind, I'll meet you at the cemetery tomorrow. Perhaps we could… continue our conversation."

Alisaunne stared back at him for a long moment before nodding. "Which one?"

Ren pulled out a pen and a slip of paper. Swiftly he wrote some information on it and then handed it to her, carefully pressing it into her hand. He seemed like a man out of time… an old-world gentleman adrift in a modern world. Thoughts of Ian crossed her mind. Alisaunne bit her lip and pocketed the paper without reading it. "Tomorrow," she said as she backed away. She pivoted and managed not to look back.

Had she looked, she might have seen him stand there, watching her thoughtfully for some time before he finally turned and headed toward his hotel.

-----

She'd had no intentions of following up the next day. She really hadn't. But lunch came and feeling the need to venture out for a few food supplies, she slipped on her coat and headed for the open-air market. The day was sunny, and the heat of summer still lay on Paris with an almost oppressive feel. Rather than blue… the sky was hazy and the smells of the sewer seemed to permeate everywhere.

As she was paying for some fruit at one stand, her hand touched the paper in her pocket. Pulling it out she realized what it was and opened it… perhaps hoping that the time had passed. It hadn't. She could still make it. Thoughtfully she wandered along the streets considering whether or not to go. She nibbled on the pears, glad that she hadn't yet bought meat, eggs or milk that might have spoiled.

Arriving at the gates of the small cemetery, she noted a funeral in progress and beyond them… Ren. Screwing up her courage, she quietly passed among the rows of tombstones and passed the funeral mourners until she reached his position.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said sincerely.

Alisaunne shoved her hands into her coat pockets and shrugged. "I almost didn't."

"That's the way of it with our kind. We have to be so wary of the others that it's hard to have relationships… or friends. Even taking a student can be dangerous." His voice broke at the word student.

Alisaunne nodded. "There is always that chance of death lingering over every meeting." She looked around. "Which was your wife's?"

Ren motioned her toward a simple slab upon which was a vase filled with pink roses. "Pink was always Nancy's favorite color."

"Why didn't you tell her? What happened exactly?"

Ren shook his head. "I killed someone. The police found the body. I left. End of story." There was a bitter and final air about his words.

"The game?"

Ren nodded. Then he shook his head and added. "I'd planned on telling her some day. But I waited until it was too late." He met Alisaunne's gaze and smiled. "I loved her very much. But events weren't as cut and dry as I've made them out to be. Just bear with me. I've never really told anyone about any of this." He took a deep breath. "The immortal I killed was a friend… and a colleague… someone who trusted me."

Alisaunne nodded, "That's the game. Survival of the fittest." Nevertheless she recalled Duncan telling her of how he still felt guilty for the deaths of Sean Burns, Connor MacLeod, and Richie Ryan.… one a mentor… one a kinsman and brother… and one a student.

Ren shook his head. "Do you have any idea what it's like to kill someone who trusts you? To have their quickening inside you? To have them always with you and never knowing how sorry you are?"

Alisaunne nodded soberly as tears formed in her eyes. "Someone you love. Someone you still miss." She looked away as her memories of that last night with Ian came to mind… of how she'd left him without a word and that he'd died… never knowing how she felt. Her voice broke in a sob.

Ren tentatively put an arm around her shoulders. She turned toward him and let the tears fall as she sobbed for some moments against his chest. His arms encircled her as he hugged her firmly, saying nothing.

Finally Alisaunne regained control and stepped back, wiping away the tears. "Sorry. I didn't mean to equate my situation with yours."

Ren nodded. "We all have secrets."

She laughed. "Yeah… that's actually what I was thinking about you last night."

They began to stroll companionably through the cemetery without touching… managing to re-erect the walls about themselves and only allowing the occasional glance and smile. Ren pointed out the graves of the famous and told her stories about them. Alisaunne listened, feeling more and more certain that he reminded her of someone.

An hour later, they left the cemetery together, and headed for a nearby open-air café. While too early for supper… it was just the time for a drink and a light snack. Ren was fully at ease, while Alisaunne glanced about, taking note of the faces and trying to figure out which was his Watcher. He didn't seem to know about them, so she said nothing… nor did she notice any familiar faces. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"What's that for?" he asked after ordering.

She laughed. "I just like to see who's around."

"We're in public. Besides, I assure you my intentions do not include cutting your head off."

"So you say," she said taking a sip of the water while waiting for their order.

Ren leaned forward. "So tell me about him."

"Ian?" Alisaunne was silent a moment and then began. "He was the first boy I ever had a crush on. He tried to keep someone from hurting me and failed. Despite that… he was always there for me. When I…" She leaned closer and whispered, "… died… he was there to help."

"He was your teacher?"

She shook her head. "No… we were both students of someone else."

The drinks arrived, as did the pastries, warm, and filled with cheese. After a few moments of attending to their food, Ren continued. "So what happened?"

Alisaunne sat back and wiped crumbs from her lips and fingers. Slowly she took a drink. "He was killed by a mortal… I was there… I was the closest." She closed her eyes… recalling again that one brief sensation of Ian kissing her and then his quickening roaring around her only to become this dead inert thing she carried around inside of her.

"But you didn't kill him."

Alisaunne opened her eyes to gaze intently into Ren's. "But he died because I left him alone. He died not knowing whatever happened to me. He died… and I never got to say good-bye." She blinked away a new set of tears. In the intervening years, Methos, Eleanor, Duncan, and Cassandra had all urged her to talk about this. She'd likely told Ren more than any of them… save Duncan.

"And I thought my life was complicated," Ren said thoughtfully. Then he looked at her horrified. "I didn't mean to slight your experience. It's just that… with who and what we are… it's always dicey… and yet… I miss having another of us to talk to. I miss having a friend."

"Is that what we're dancing around here?" asked Alisaunne with a smile.

Ren nodded. "Maybe if we take it slowly… it will work. I used to know this couple that actually had been married for over three hundred years."

A small laugh escaped Alisaunne… one that let him know they had something in common. She shrugged. "The de Valicourt's?" When he nodded she continued. "I'd heard of them and I actually met them some years ago… only briefly though. We're not friends or anything." She quickly took another drink.

"So it _is_ possible," Ren teased.

She looked at him for a long moment. "But is it wise?"

He reached across the table to clasp her hand. "I'm willing to chance it."

His words silenced her. She remained unmoving for some time before nodding. Her hand remained in his. It wasn't wise. It wasn't smart. But maybe… just maybe… he was what she needed to move on. Maybe it was what they both needed to move on.

-----

When they reached the entrance of Ren's hotel, Alisaunne hung back a moment… staring at the entrance.

Ren smiled. "Tell you what. I'll go on up. It's room 334 if you decide to join me. If not… then maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow. My plans were to leave Paris tomorrow afternoon."

Alisaunne nodded and watched as he went into the revolving door and backed away from her… throwing her a kiss. Once inside… he hesitated a moment before heading for the elevators.

"Be still!" she whispered as she sensed a slight cackle and smelled something rotten. Nestor hadn't really bothered her in days, and now suddenly he was reminding her that he was still with her. Alisaunne closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts… using all the mental exercises that Cassandra had given her. While the smart thing to do was to go home… she didn't want to go home. Her eyes opened.

It was then that she saw the woman. She'd seen her last night at the dance-club and earlier today with the mourners at the cemetery. Whipping around, Alisaunne grabbed the woman by the neck and backed her into the shadows. She grabbed one wrist and held it up to display the hated tattoo.

"Watcher!" she hissed.

The woman gasped for air but managed to nod slightly. Alisaunne relaxed her grip slightly. "Ren's Watcher?"

"Ye… yes," the dark-haired woman managed.

"I don't like being Watched. Go back to wherever you came from and wait for him," she snapped as she pushed the woman against the wall. "This section of Paris is mine and I won't tolerate you people here." She spat at the Watcher before releasing her and stalking off. By this time, Nestor's presence had vanished. Firmly she pushed her way through the revolving glass door. She stalked across the lobby, and punched the elevator button repeatedly until the doors opened, which she entered and then stabbed at the three. She glared at the others in the car and pushed her way through them to exit on the third floor.

Standing before room number 334, she hesitated only a moment before knocking. When Ren opened the door… she entered and kissed him hungrily… letting him know there would be no need for any further formalities.

-----


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_**Paris, September 2023:**_

The long shadows of afternoon had given way to darkness… and the darkness had finally given way to the gray light of dawn.

Ren leaned on one elbow and stared at the sleeping woman beside him. Seldom had he had such a night… and usually he was the one who led his partner onto plains of pleasure seldom achieved. But Ali was something different. Maybe it was because she, like him, was immortal and had taken advantage of that to have a multitude of lovers. But that didn't seem right. She was so much younger than he was. And yet she seemed far more experienced and knowledgeable than anyone he'd ever met.

She was a contradiction in terms: Old and young, innocent and experienced. Ali was an enigma… a puzzle he wanted to solve. She stretched in her sleep, but Ren had no doubt that if he made a sudden move, she'd be ready for him. He doubted that she had ever trusted very many people in her life… and that thought touched him as few others had done in recent years. She was far more vulnerable than her tough exterior showed, and although she'd led the way yesterday and last night with aggressive lovemaking, Ren had a feeling that she longed for something else.

Just now, her dark curls had fallen over her face and were blowing slightly as she breathed in and out. He wanted to touch her, so perfect she seemed with her flawless skin. She lay on her stomach, and the curve of her back was beauty in and of itself. The immortal smiled. _You got it bad, lad_, he thought with a small laugh. Aye, he had it bad.

She seemed so peaceful laying there, the sheet twisted about her legs, the sun just reaching her body. It was going to be a glorious day. Ren lay back and picked up the phone to dial room service. He felt that breakfast in bed was in order.

Deep in her dreams, Ali shifted, hearing the nightmare voice unusually loud. "Mine…" it hissed. "alwaysss… mine."

"No," she moaned and tossed slightly even as she could feel him there… slicing into her… slicing himself… rubbing his bleeding body against hers… and then the sudden penetration and rough thrusting that had galvanized her into action that long ago day. She could sense him… and she had to kill him before he finished.

Half awake, her hand closed on the knife she'd hid beneath the pillow and roared as she attacked her enemy. This time she would not fail. This time she would slice his hated head off. And since she wasn't immortal that day… he'd die. Nestor's laughter rang in her ears as she straddled him and raised the knife.

"Ali! Ali"

She blinked and realized that her blade was at Ren's throat and already drawing blood. He pushed at her even as she froze and managed to release her blade. Almost immediately, the welts from those old wounds began appearing… angry and red… along her arms and across her chest. She could smell his sour rotten breath and feel him cold and rough within her. "Make it stop!" she screamed as she stared at the welts. "Make it stop!"

Ren grabbed her arms, staring at the angry red scars that appeared and seemed to writhe on her where before there had been nothing. Then he pulled her into his arms as she sobbed. "Make it stop," she whimpered. His throat hurt, and the bloody knife lay on the bedclothes like a reminder of what had almost happened. Yet it wasn't her… he knew… it wasn't her.

Soon she curled into fetal position as he held her, and she murmured again and again, "Go away! Go away!" The welts faded. He ran his hands over her skin… and felt nothing there. "I've never seen such things happen to one of us," Ren murmured curiously.

"Really," Ali finally said. "Happens all the time to me… but usually not this bad." She sounded exhausted. Her hair was damp.

He rubbed his throat, thankful that it hadn't been worse, and curious as to what exactly had happened. "Who is he?"

Ali stretched and stared for some moments with unfocused eyes at the corniced ceiling. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. He's dead."

"It does matter, lass! My God, ya almost took my head off!" His brogue tended to be thicker when he was upset, and Ren Caulfield was upset.

Ali sat up staring at his neck. She bit her lip and reached out one hand to caress it. "I'm so sorry. It was a nightmare… and I thought I was killing him."

"Who?"

Ali shook her head. She pulled her hand back and turned to swing her legs off of the bed. Rising, she began to gather and don the clothing items she'd discarded readily enough yesterday afternoon. "Trust me when I tell you this Ren Caulfield. You don't want to get involved with me. I'm not safe to be around sometimes."

Ren likewise scrambled from the bed to grab clothes. He wasn't going to let her get out of here without explaining and he wanted to be ready for her when she tried. "I can't let you just take off like this. You shouldn't be alone."

"Don't you get it? I have to be alone to get this under control!" she shouted back and then wavered, one hand to her head as the welts began again. He caught her as she staggered and held her for a moment before she pushed him away.

"I have to go," Ali said. Ren paused only a moment and then followed her out of the room. She was angrily punching the elevator call button.

"I'm not the enemy," he told her.

"That won't keep me from killing you," she spat out bitterly.

"What's going on? Tell me!" Ali rubbed her arms and grimaced. The attacks were coming less frequently now… and not as severe as that first one. "Please," he continued. "Or at least let me drive you someplace safe."

Ali nodded. The elevator doors opened and she entered, leaning against the back wall of the car. It was a start Ren figured. He entered and punched the button for the underground parking where he'd left his sports car.

They were silent as the car descended. Ren watched her, trying to figure out what was going on with her. He'd never seen an immortal react this way to memories. Obviously something traumatic had once happened to her. Ali pulled dark glasses out of a pocket and put them on, covering her gray and haunted eyes.

When they reached the parking deck, Ren led the way to his car, hitting the remote so that the beep echoed in the deserted garage. Pausing at the passenger door, Ali looked about and then got in beside him without a word.

"Where to?" he asked her.

She said nothing for a moment, and then shrugged. "Anywhere."

"That's not good enough," Ren persisted. "You should be somewhere safe… like holy ground… at least until this passes."

She rubbed her arms. "All right. Do you know where _St. Julian les Pauvre_ is?"

"Darius' church? Did you know him?"

Ali said nothing.

"Fine, a church it is." He started the ignition, pumping the gas a few times to listen to the smooth sound of the engine, and then shifted into reverse to back out of the parking spot. A few moments later, the car emerged onto the Paris street and entered traffic. The old church wasn't that far, but Ren didn't want her on the streets in her condition. "I really wish you'd tell me what's going on," he murmured as he turned a corner.

"You can't help," she said with a clipped tone.

"How do you know?"

"I know. It's just ahead… you can drop me off here."

Resolutely he continued on until he found a parking space across from the twelfth century church. He noticed the scaffolding about it. "Are they fixing it up?"

Ali reached for the handle to open the door. Ren grabbed at her. "Will I see you again?"

She looked at him though her dark glasses and bit her lip. "It's better if you go on with your plans to leave Paris this afternoon. I don't want to kill you."

"Who says I'd let you. I'm quite a bit older and more experienced."

She smiled slightly. "Yeah… you are."

He had a feeling it wasn't his abilities with the sword she was talking about."

"Let me give you my number. You can call me." Ren reached for pen and paper only for Ali's hand to crumple the paper in his hand.

"No. It's better if you just leave. Thanks for the night… it was nice." Opening the door, she stepped out, standing on the sidewalk with her hands shoved into her coat pockets.

There was nothing more to say. Slowly Ren pulled out of the parking space, watching her in the rearview mirror as he sped up. Suddenly a torrent of French sounded and he slammed on the brakes. A man gestured rudely as he continued crossing the street. Ren watched him and then looked once more in the mirror. She'd vanished. He stepped out of the car to find her… but she was gone… and he hadn't even felt her leave.

Behind him, cars honked their horns and drivers shouted. Throwing up his hands, he reluctantly climbed into his car and drove off.

-----

Alisaunne watched him go and then threaded through the construction and into the old church. Within _St. Julien's_ birds flew in and out of the smashed windows and dust cloths covered statues and chairs. Above, she could hear men's voices and the sound of hammers as they worked. Dust drifted in the air, visible in the shafts of light from the open holes where windows had once been. At least the building was being restored. She knew Darius would be pleased with that.

Slowly she found the alcove where Duncan MacLeod had said he'd found the immortal priest's headless body thirty years ago. She knelt on the stone and fingered the burned spot that even now remained. She had been reborn here… and received something of the ancient immortal whom Darius had beheaded fifteen hundred years before. Whenever Nestor was too much in her thoughts, she often came here, and did as she was doing now, lay on the flagstone, her face pressed against the cold rock as she tried to find Havron's essence somewhere within her.

As the year's passed, the Ancient was less and less with her, as if having given her his strength in one dynamic burst of power, he was done. But although Alisaunne could almost sense what he'd known and written in the cave below the church, she still couldn't understand it. The answer was within her… she knew that. But it was still hidden from her.

Finally she closed her eyes and let the essence of this spot of holy ground drown out Nestor's whispers and the sound of waves crashing somewhere overhead.

-----


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_**Paris, September 2023, a few hours earlier:**_

Pouring a bit of after-shave onto his outstretched palm, Joe Dawson then rubbed his hands together a few times and then his beard and neck. In the mirror he carefully regarded the aging face that looked back at him. His hair and beard were snow-white by this time, but his eyes still crinkled in amusement back at him. Despite being confined to a wheelchair in recent years, he'd managed to stay in reasonably good shape for a man in his seventies. "Yeah!" he said to his reflection and pushed the auto-controls of his chair so that he turned and was halfway down the hallway on his way to the house elevator when he heard Amy behind him.

"Mmmm, you smell good," she laughed with an arched eyebrow. When she'd been a girl, she'd sometimes greeted him with those words when he'd come to visit her parents. She hadn't known then that he was her biological father. Joe was just this friend of her parents who always brought her a small present… and sometimes had sung songs to her. "So let me guess," she smirked as she closed the difference between where he was and where she had been and kissed his cheek. "Either you have decided to go to the club and hang out… or…" she let the word hand in the air before continuing… "you expect to impress our houseguest.?"

Joe blushed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Just to me," she said as she entered the elevator cage and pushed the button for the first floor after closing the grate. "Just to me."

"Damn! I gotta work on my subterfuge," Joe laughed as they traveled downward.

"I'm certain _Mademoiselle_ LeSeur will be suitably impressed," chuckled Amy.

"I don't know what you mean," Joe huffed innocently. Their houseguest was a bit of a problem. Methos and Robert de Valicourt had left her here yesterday afternoon as they'd hit the road for England in their search for Duncan MacLeod. LeSeur had been Robert and Gina's Watcher… but evidently that assignment had not worked out. Joe still wasn't certain what the problem was. Madeline seemed a bright young woman and her Watcher profile had indicated that she'd graduated fourth in her class and was eminently suited to have dealt one on one with the immortal couple as a secretary and personal assistant. In the case of the immortals who now knew about their organization, like the de Valicourts, the Watchers now asked to be part of a household so that they would not be perceived of as a threat.

Neither Methos nor Robert had fully explained just why Madeline had not worked out, but Methos had insisted that the young woman be reassigned. She had a glorious head of blonde hair that caught the light like spun gold and a figure that was a man's dream to hold. She had a delightful tone of voice, and absolutely beamed whenever she was addressed.

"Uh huh. You did know that I had to insist that Dawson go to school this morning."

Joe blushed. His teenaged grandson had also seemed awfully interested in the delectable _Mademoiselle_ LeSeur last night. "Did he go?" he finally gulped.

"I insisted." By this time the elevator had reached the main floor. "I have a meeting this morning with the regional coordinators about several immortals who've gone missing over the past few months. But I shouldn't be late." She kissed his brow and then headed to the foyer where she donned her coat and grabbed her attaché case. "Be good!"

Watching her leave, Joe chuckled. His daughter knew him all too well. Wheeling smoothly into the dining room, he noticed Madeline sitting at the dining table, engrossed in a magazine. She looked up as he entered and flashed him that perfect smile.

Joe sighed. He wheeled to the buffet and filled a plate, before crossing to the table. "I thought maybe you could help me with some files today," he began tentatively. He'd promised Methos that he would keep the young woman busy so that she wouldn't view this as a demotion. "I have several chronicles that need attention."

"Duncan MacLeod's?" she said brightly. "I mean… I know you were his Watcher and that your friendship with him helped to forge a new relationship between immortals and Watchers."

Joe forked up some scrambled eggs. "Yeah… I have quite a few entries on MacLeod that need some work." It was true. The fact that he was worried about the Highlander wasn't going to help matters. Damn that Scot for vanishing on him a few weeks ago. And damn his physical condition that kept him from personally following the Highlander. And damn him for not assigning someone else to watch his friend!

'I really enjoyed meeting him," Madeline said with a sigh. "He's so gorgeous to look at."

Joe chewed thoughtfully.

"I wonder what it would be like to have an immortal love you?" she continued.

Joe sighed. Obviously she did have a bit of a lovesick air about her. Obviously an old goat like him didn't stand a chance of really getting her attention. Hell! Dawson likely had a better chance! "Well when you're done, we'll get to work in the library. You're gonna be a big help to me in getting this stuff organized."

He could have turned it all over to a team at Watcher headquarters… after all he was technically retired. But dammit! MacLeod was still his assignment and he wanted to put the final touches on his part of the Highlander's Chronicle. Damn! He hoped Mac was all right… wherever he was. Maybe he'd get a call later today from Methos that they'd found him and everything was all right.

An hour later he and Madeline were busy going through files and accounts of his observations of MacLeod and his conversations with him. He was chuckling over an observation about Mac, Richie, Amanda and Cory Raines when the doorbell chimed. He glanced up, and then back down at the file as he'd seen Estelle, the housekeeper, sweep past the open door of the foyer. It was nice to have staff to take care of many of the small interruptions of life. A few moments later, Estelle knocked at the open door.

"Forgive me _Monsieur_ Dawson. The young lady has asked to see you. She says she was referred to you by the home office."

While Estelle did not know the truth about the Watchers or immortals, she did know that if anyone was "referred" here… it was important. Joe's heart seemed in his mouth as he motioned for the young lady to enter. She was petite, brown-haired, and clearly worried.

'I'm Gladys Morgan," she said offering him her hand as she entered. "My immortal met with another down in the old _cite_ and she warned me off. They were headed to his hotel room yesterday. This morning, I heard screaming and loud voices. I was concerned and checked in with headquarters. They said I should come talk to you."

Joe smirked, a bit taken back by the young woman's clipped announcement and non-nonsense attitude. He scratched his beard. "You were down near _Rue St. Jacques_?" he asked her. When she nodded he described the immortal that he knew frequented that area… "Dark hair, slender but muscular, frequently seen wearing black." He nodded as Madeline motioned that she was going to take a brief break and exited the library.

"That's her. Who is she?"

" Just an immortal who hates us. We killed her lover. If she saw you, and warned you off, it was best to withdraw. She hasn't killed one of us yet… but she means business."

"I'm worried about my immortal. Should I be?"

"Does he know about you?"

"No. I don't think so. Would she tell him? What name do I put into the chronicle?"

Joe sighed. "We don't know her name. We do think she's young and new to the game. As for telling your immortal… I don't know. I doubt it."

"Would she challenge him?"

Joe shook his head with a shrug. "Unknown. She's pretty active but generally goes after lowlifes and petty criminals. Who's your immortal?"

She told him. Joe sat back thinking. "So… he's back."

"His ex-wife died. He came to watch the funeral from a distance."

Joe nodded. "And he's involved now with our dark lady of Paris… interesting. That could be a recipe for disaster."

Gladys shrugged. "But for whom?"

"Maybe both of them. Listen… before he met her… what were his plans?"

"To leave Paris today."

"He still might. Our lady doesn't get real involved with her lovers. She generally leaves them wondering what the hell happened. This might be the same."

"Well she did tell me to go back to where he lived and wait for him."

"Then she'll likely send him packing later today.

"But the screaming?"

"Maybe she's enthusiastic," Joe smirked, although he doubted it. Dammit… Mac knew her. If he knew where to contact him he'd give him a call. Mac wouldn't tell him much about her, other than it was best to stay away from her… but at least the Highlander would check on her.

From across the hall in the dinging room, he heard the sound of china shattering. "What the hell?" he cursed. "Excuse me." He hit the controls and sped across the hall, wondering what had happened. Madeline was standing with her hands over her mouth, her eyes plastered on a small television set that was tuned to a news channel. "What happened?" Joe asked her.

Madeline pointed at the set. "A _tsunami_ in the Aegean… a big one."

Joe felt for a moment that time had frozen. His vision clouded and his heart beat harshly in his ears. "Ellie," he whispered. Ellie and the kids were on Niebos… and if a _tsunami_ had hit… they were at risk.

-----

By evening, Joe was bleary-eyed and more irascible than ever. He'd remained parked in front of the television all afternoon as he waited for the latest word. He'd tried to contact the Watcher on Niebos and had been unsuccessful. Again and again he'd yelled at Madeline and Estelle to leave him be. Thankfully Gladys had left earlier in her haste to check on her immortal.

He was only vaguely aware when the twins got home from school, so intent was he on every word. The jangling of his phonecard finally roused him. "Dawson," he barked.

"Joe, it's Adam Pierson." Methos' face showed in the screen. "We're on our way to Greece."

"How?" Joe wanted to know. Even the questions he had concerning their search for MacLeod erased by his worry about Methos' family.

"Robert has a plane at a small airfield north of Paris. We're on our way now. We left Glasgow as soon as we heard."

Joe tried to think about distances and miles. He shook his head. Right now nothing made sense. "Why not fly out of Glasgow?"

"No commercial flights into the area right now. Besides, I prefer being off the radar. I just wanted you to know I'm on my way. I'll call you if I get any word."

"Thanks for thinking of me," Joe muttered.

"You're family Joe… at least as far as Eleanor insists. And you're my friend. Oh… by the way… no luck on MacLeod. Both of Craille's properties in the isles were a bust."

"Let's hope he'll surface in Russia," Joe suggested. "I can put someone on the property."

"No… don't. Listen Joe… I'll take care of it. Just sit tight." Moments later he broke the connection. Joe continued staring at the television, his phonecard still in his hand.

Amy found him like that when she got home. Not even the twins when they'd gotten home from school had been able to get him to budge.

"I tried Momma," Abigail told her mother. "I tried to play the piano and get him to play on the guitar… You know how he loves that. But he wouldn't." Tears sparkled in the teenager's eyes. Amy kissed her and then went in to see Joe. She turned on a lamp in the darkening room.

"Dammit! If I wanted a light on… I'd have turned one on!"

"Joseph Dawson," Amy said bemusedly. "You don't have to shout at me." She left the light on, however and crossed to the desk, positioning herself between her father and the television. "You're not doing yourself or anyone else any good by staring at these news reports over and over. It will be morning, likely before anything new is known. Turn it off."

"Get out of my way, girl."

Amy stayed put. "I know you're worried, but there is nothing that you can do right now. You need to eat and get some sleep. If you get too worked up over this… we might lose you… and dammit Dad… I'm not ready to lose you."

Joe stared at her and then hung his head as sobs broke through. "I feel so helpless."

Amy moved forward, knelt and put her arms around his shoulders. "I know. I do too." She hugged him while he cried. While Joe Dawson had always been a part of her life, she hadn't known he was her father until she was nearly thirty. And then it had taken nearly losing him to break down the walls and realize that they meant more to one another than either of them had ever wanted to admit. Both of them had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Amy figured that her children had it as well.

When her phonecard beeped, she nearly didn't answer it, but Joe pulled back and shook his head as he regained control. "You better get that." She pulled it from her pocket with a shrug. "It's likely just the office…" her voice faded away and she smiled. "It's Burt." Swiftly she rose, answering it in a single move as she turned away. Her whole demeanor changed from tough-as-nails to soft and alluring. "Burt," she said, holding the phone before her. Joe knew that she was smiling.

Amy was Burt's second wife and he'd been good for her. A former Special Ops military man who'd gone the CIA route for a while, and then private investigation, he'd fit in perfectly with the Watchers once Amy had told him who she worked for. He was generally in charge of new recruit training in covert surveillance and survival techniques but had been called to Washington D.C. yesterday. "I'm so glad it's you."

Joe turned away, unwilling to eavesdrop on his daughter and her husband. On the television, video played again of the wall of water that had approached Athens. He wondered again how the Greek Island of Niebos had fared and if the immortals there had survived. He knew Amy was right. He knew there would likely be no news from Niebos over the air. He knew that Methos would let him know what was happening. Joe closed his eyes. Knowing and accepting were two different things. Slowly he reached for the remote and turned the set off. Then he closed the paneled doors covering it. By then, Amy was off the phone. She looked worried.

"Burt is on his way to Rome," she said brittlely.

"What's up?"

"Evidently the immortal they called him in to deal with in Washington skipped town with another immortal as his hostage. Burt and a group are following." Tears stung Amy's eyes. "Joe… I'm worried."

This time it was Amy who needed reassurance. Joe pushed the control slightly to roll in her direction. "He's a smart and cautious Watcher, Amy. You know that." He reached up to clasp one of her hands and gave it a squeeze. "You don't want the twins to see you worried. What say we go in to dinner? I think Estelle was doing something with pork tonight."

Amy bit her lip and nodded. Rising, she walked at his side, and continued to hold her father's hand. She didn't want to worry the twins.

-----


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**Moscow, December 2023:**

Arms folded, Duncan sat on the bench in the cell, glaring harshly at his cellmates. The authorities had handcuffed him, loaded him into a van and brought him to headquarters where they'd relieved him of his identity papers, photographed him and then shoved him in here. They'd yet to interrogate him, but he figured it was only a matter of time. If he'd been alone in a cell, he might have chanced killing himself, a course of action he hated to resort to unless he knew more about what was happening and who was around.

As the feel of another of them approached, he was glad he hadn't taken the chance. Now he glared up at the tall and strangely thin shape of a man he'd once called friend.

"Dimitri Abernov," the other said in greeting. His tone was easy although a bit clipped. Obviously he was trying not to give anything away before anyone else. Duncan said nothing. The immortal motioned for the cell door to be opened and then stepped back as two officers entered to escort him elsewhere. Duncan flung himself free of their hands and stepped out of the cell.

The other immortal was lighting a dark cigarette and winked at Duncan. "Take him to interrogation," he ordered.

Seeing the wink, Duncan relaxed a bit and allowed himself to be escorted. After all, with the two-way mirror there would likely be little chance of anything really dangerous happening. Once there, he settled into a metal chair at the table and did not protest as he was cuffed to the table. He noted the security camera in the corner.

The immortal police officer waited for the others to leave and then stepped to a switch, which Duncan assumed turned off the sound to the outside. Duncan started to say something and noticed that his friend was still motioning for silence. Duncan nodded and sat back as the other immortal moved to the camera, switching it off. Finally he turned to Duncan with a thin smile. "You don't look so good, my friend."

"I didn't know you were in Russia. What happened to the easy life?"

The other man shrugged. "It was past time for me to move on. One can be the center of an adoring public only so long before people get suspicious." He looked around. "At least here I can relax a bit."

"So why law enforcement?"

"What could be more different? Besides… it's all still play-acting." He stubbed out his thin, black cigarette and then lit another one. He offered it to Duncan who shook his head. "By the time I'm ready to move on, no one will remember me."

"I noticed the weight loss," Duncan muttered.

"It's a little extreme I warrant… but it will help."

"So what happens next?" Duncan asked.

The immortal grinned. "This isn't my usual arena of investigation, but a mutual friend contacted me and said you were arrested. I made discreet inquiries and then used my authority to arrange this little confrontation. You have been a naughty boy Dimitri. They think you killed someone… which you have… but you and I both know that it wasn't murder. So… how to get you out of here?"

"A mutual friend?" Duncan searched his memory as to who that could be.

"She said she was an old friend of yours as well," the immortal shrugged. "I have no reason to doubt her. You always did have a way with the ladies."

Duncan nodded. Evidently his friend didn't want to use any names at this point just in case.

"So what next?"

The immortal leaned on the table, depositing an unlit cigarette next to Duncan's cuffed hands. "You really should try one. I know they can be killers… but one has to take the chance." The black cigarette lay beside a wooden match. "Say for later… after dinner."

Duncan nodded and closed his fingers over the items. He would die in custody. His friend would have his body released to whomever had contacted him. It was a leap of faith that Duncan was still uncertain if he should chance. He preferred being in control of the situation… and suicide was always dicey.

"Interpol has been advised that you are here. Their representative will see you in the morning. Have a pleasant rest tonight." The immortal crossed to the door, opened it and strode out without a backwards glance.

Duncan kept his fist around both cigarette and match as the other officers entered to return him to his cell. This time, he was in one by himself. After they left him, he regarded the offered instrument of death, wondering just how far he could trust Vrej Ratavoussian. After all, the man had a habit of killing young immortals, or incapacitated ones. Duncan wondered again just who the female friend was and if he could trust her as well. He felt vulnerable without his sword, but thankful that it was someplace safe. Now if he could just get out of here, retrieve it and get to Hong Kong before Craille and Kate moved on again. He continued to ponder his situation and the slim black cigarette.

-----

_**Paris, September 2023, two months earlier:**_

By mid-morning, Joe was back in front of the television set. He'd tried doing some work… he really had… but the temptation to discover if anything else was known was eventually too great. He told Madeline to take a break as he opened the cabinet doors and turned the set on. There was some new video from the mainland countries affected by the earthquake and resultant _tsunami_, but nothing about the hundreds of small islands in the Aegean… closer to the epicenter. He stared at the graphics locating the center of the quake, and fretted about what might have happened… even if something immortal had caused this. There were temples of all sorts about the islands. Had something happened on holy ground?

He was only vaguely aware of someone at the door, and continued to ignore a low conversation of feminine voices. His back was to the door and he had no clue someone had entered until she laid a hand softly on his shoulder. He glanced up.

"Amanda!"

"It's awful, isn't it? How high has the death toll risen?"

Joe told her. Amanda shook her head, blinking away tears. "I always feel so helpless at times like this."

"I thought you and Gina were meeting Robert and Adam in Rome?"

"We did… but I knew if I went with them as they tried to fly in… I might get caught up in the situation and not get out again. Things are in an uproar there."

"What's the hurry?"

Amanda crouched beside him and looked directly into his eyes. "I want to know where MacLeod is."

Joe ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he considered what to say.

"He may have told you not to tell me… but Joe… I have to find him. Tell me what you know."

'I told Adam. He'll handle it."

"Adam will have enough other worries when he gets to Greece. Even he knows that. Tell me."

"I really don't know."

"You knew enough to send Adam and Robert to England and Scotland."

"Craille owned property there."

Amanda sat back on her heels as she thought. "He wouldn't go there… that's not isolated enough."

"It would be a lot easier if you would tell me what this is about!" Joe snarled.

"Duncan didn't tell you?" Joe shook his head. "Then I can't either, Joe. It's really not something I can discuss."

"Why is he suddenly interested in Kate Devaney again? I thought they'd mutually agreed that it wasn't going to work."

Amanda rose to pace. "Joe… I'm certain he'll tell you when he can. Just be patient. Meanwhile, he might need my help. I really don't think he needs to be alone at this time."

"Ya know… a mortal could grow old and die being patient with you immortals!"

Amanda regarded him sadly. "You aren't that old and you aren't dying. When I see MacLeod, I'll remind him to talk to you." She offered a small smile. "Please?" she asked again.

Joe threw up his hands and pulled up the information he had in the database on Craille. Amanda ran her finger over the screen, finally tapping Moscow. "That's the most likely now."

"Methos said the same thing after the ones he and de Valicourt visited didn't check out."

Amanda tapped her manicured red nails on the surface of the desk. "But I've known Alistair for nearly two centuries. He acquires places, but seldom cares for them. Some have fallen into disrepair while others would be entirely unsuitable."

"Unsuitable for what? If you tell me what's going on… maybe I can help?"

Amanda smiled and kissed him, holding his face in her hands. "Soon Joe… I promise. Now let's keep this between just the two of us for the time being." She kissed him again, wiping his lips of her lipstick before she pulled away. She winked and was gone, passing a bemused Madeline at the door.

Looking after the departing immortal, Madeline commented, "Does she come on to every guy she has contact with?"

Joe chortled at the thought of Amanda coming on to him… coupled with the realization that Madeline really had to be totally oblivious that she seemed to be doing the same thing. He shook his head and then cleared his mind of his obsession with the _tsunami_ news. Amanda was right, Methos would be able to do whatever was necessary, but he might well find that having gotten back to Niebos… that he couldn't leave right away… or that he wouldn't want to.

Joe hoped it would be the latter. He'd have to wait until Methos or Ellie got back in touch with him. It was hard to wait… but he was a Watcher… always would be… even if he were technically retired. "What say we get back to that chronicle?" he suggested and Madeline agreed eagerly.

-----

**Moscow, December 2023:**

His meal… Duncan refused to think of it as dinner… consisted of cold _borscht_, a hard roll of black bread, and water. Afterwards, he could hear the voices of the other inmates in the cellblock as they called out taunts to one another as the lights were dimmed for sleep. They wouldn't be entirely turned out.

Settling on the bunk, Duncan drew his legs up and pulled the small black cigarette out once more. This could be his only chance. He sniffed it and detected the acrid odor of some chemical that the tobacco must have been soaked in before it was rolled. His nostrils flared as he tried to place the odor and failed. He put it in his mouth, tasting the acrid chemical. His tongue and lips felt numb where they touched it. He idly rubbed his fingers together, detecting a slight numbness there as well. He wondered how much time he'd have after lighting up. He wondered how much smoke he should attempt to inhale. Vrej had been very vague as to what would happen.

A lot of what he did next depended on how much he trusted the Russian. They'd always gotten along well enough the few times they'd ever met, but there was something about him now that bothered Duncan and he wasn't certain what it was. Maybe it was just his tendency to hunt the young ones, the weak ones, the females… in short anyone whom he didn't think worthy of being one of the final two. He'd shrugged once. "A necessary evil, friend MacLeod. Someone has to do it. Why not me?" Joe had told him that Vrej had been the one to take Duncan's student Danny Cimoli. Duncan smirked audibly. Cimoli was no loss. Hell, the boy had tried to take his head in the mistaken belief that if he did so, he'd be able to survive. But still… Duncan had always had a soft spot for the ones that Vrej tended to target.

And there it was. While he was dead… would Vrej see him as a proper target? Yet if Interpol came for him in the morning, his attempts to find Kate and Craille would be further delayed. And he had been delayed enough as it was. He struck the match and lit the end of the cigarette. Extinguishing the match, he hid it under the thin mattress even as he drew the bitter smoke into his longs and held it for several seconds before slowly exhaling.

It had been years since he'd last smoked. He'd lost the taste for it years ago. Yet his body remembered how… and although he coughed slightly after that first inhalation, he quickly… almost greedily took another deep draw and held it. By this time, he was seeing great orange spots before his eyes that were slowly turning to darkness. His mouth felt filled with cotton and his throat and lungs no longer seemed to be under his control. Even his hands felt numb. He drew in one more long breath and noticed the spots had become a great mist that covered everything. He stubbed out the cigarette and hid it beneath the mattress even as the darkness took him and he knew nothing more.

His last coherent thought before he died was that he hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

-----


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six 

**Niebos, Greece, December 2023:**

Derrick was home!

Eleanor cuddled up to his left… while he sat on the wide white leather couch in Phillip's main room. The boy… no the man held one of her hands in one of his while he laughed and spoke with the other immortals. Everyone seemed in a light mood at the arrival of Derrick and his little band of followers. It seemed like a party.

To Derrick's right sat the young immortal he called Amber. His arm hung over her shoulders and he seemed to be fingering her hair about her neck. She'd barely mumbled anything… and seemed a bit uncomfortable in such a large group of immortals.

From where he sat in an easy chair across from them, Methos sipped a glass of Phillip's wine and met her gaze with amusement. Eleanor could sense through their bond that he was waiting… but waiting for what.

Thirsty, she rose to refill her own glass of wine at the bar. On the way back to her seat, Methos pulled her into his lap.

_Jealous_? She teased through their bond.

_Look_, he replied with a motion of his jaw. Eleanor leaned into his shoulder and stared across the room at Derrick and Amber. Only then did she see it. Derrick's motions on Amber's neck and with her hair were the ancient symbols that Aja had taught Methos five thousand years ago. The same ones they'd used to cement their own bonding with one another.

_How_? She thought back.

She felt Methos shrug. He then set his wineglass down and clasped his arms about her waist. One of his fingers traced "truth" on the back of one of her hands where "trust" had been placed. A memory of the three of them in Scotland when Derrick was eleven flashed over her. The boy was studying an atlas of the world while they sat much as they were sitting now… and their fingers moved over whatever bare skin they could touch. Derrick had looked up at them with a smile.

"We taught him," Eleanor whispered. "He learned them… even if he doesn't know that he did."

"So it seems," Methos replied. He lifted his hand from hers and picked up his wineglass again. He loosened his grasp on her with the other hand, in case she wanted to return to Derrick's side.

Eleanor sighed deeply and remained where she was, fully content. From here she could observe Derrick and Amber and the other immortals, who'd journeyed to Niebos with them.

Off to one side she could see Cassandra speaking with Sarah Manning. Eleanor felt uneasy at that… but Cassandra had been Sarah Manning's teacher. If anyone could dissuade Sarah from her current pursuit of Methos, it might be Cassandra. But could they trust either of them? Cassandra and Methos had made their peace with one another, but it was a peace edged with vigilance… at least on Methos' side. He constantly worried that her knowledge of who he was, might well fall into another immortal's hands. Cassandra was a sword hanging over his head… and the heads of his family.

Sarah, a former lover of his, who'd known him only as Ben Adams and now Adam Pierson, should not even be here. Her arrival with Martin Kingsley, a sadist who'd tortured her, was unfortunate. But some good had come of it. It had brought about the awakening of the immortals trapped for the last twelve years in comas resulting from the actions of rogue Watcher Henry Rawlins. Sarah had learned too much about the inhabitants of Niebos to be allowed to freely leave as most of the awakees had. But her continued presence here was a thorn in their side. So far, she was not more than they could handle.

Another worry was the dark-haired and goateed immortal Derrick had introduced as Caspar Wingate. He glared at all of them uneasily. Eleanor wondered what had possessed Derrick to include such a dangerous immortal with his band. He glared at her across the room… his dark eyes glittering. Then he turned to say something to the Japanese immortal at his side.

Methos evidently knew the Japanese immortal Hikaru Masahiro. The man was honor personified, a man who belonged far more to the time and traditions to which he'd been born than this modern age. Eleanor knew that Methos had been surprised that the _samurai_ still lived, but he'd not enlightened her yet as to why. Perhaps his presence here would help control Wingate.

Of the biker trio… Dieter, Brynn, and Sean she had no frame of reference other than it was clear that the three were a tightly knit group within the greater group. She noticed that by turns Grace, John and Greg had spoken to them at length earlier in the evening. Eleanor would check with Grace later about what they thought… what they were doing… what they suspected. The three were obviously sexually involved with one another without jealousy. That might bode well for the future… if they could be trusted.

Before she could go further with that line of thought, laughter drew her attention to the young couple. She recalled both David Keogh and Michelle Webster from those liberated from Watcher hands twelve years ago. David appeared to be in his early twenties and Michelle's age was frozen at eighteen. In subsequent conversations over the years, both Duncan and Amanda had regaled them about what a handful Michelle was. As for David… Duncan had only said that he hoped the young man had finally grown up.

Those that they'd managed to save who weren't in comas had been confused. Cassandra had worked with many of them to come to grips with what had happened to them… how they'd been kidnapped, drugged, violated, and tested in that wayward attempt of Rawlins to learn what made them immortal so that he could become immortal himself. Eleanor still shuddered at that. Rawlins had reached too far and his attempts to behead Methos on the dream plane had ultimately backfired… but he'd come very close.

The last of Derrick's group was the red-haired big man they called Burke. He didn't seem to be all there mentally, as if something in his past had erased part of his memory. He mumbled to himself and watched the others warily. Eleanor wondered if they could help him face his past or if it was wise to even try. Burke stared at those around him as if ready to flee. His eyes were wide with fear. Strangely, Wingate stayed near him, which seemed to calm the big man's uneasiness.

Of the island's resident immortals, Eleanor noticed that most seemed ill at ease with these new immortals… or maybe it was that they all had swords on their person. Phillip, who had called Niebos home for nearly three thousand years generally kept the weapons locked up. As yet, he'd made no comment about weapons, but Eleanor had the distinct impression that he'd retrieved his own sword as a line of defense in case one of Derrick's band suddenly drew his or hers.

Grace had withdrawn not long after greeting them and speaking with the young trio. No doubt she was upstairs with her infant daughter, barely three months old. Hope was indeed that… a child conceived by and born to an immortal. Her existence was not something they wanted to be generally known. At least Eleanor's two children, nearly thirteen-year-old J.D. and five year old Marianna simply felt like pre-immortal children. None of Derrick's group had given them a second glance as they'd dashed off with the island's immortal children, Denara, Denis, and the recently awakened and mute Kenny. Eleanor was still uncomfortable with Kenny around her children, but his muteness caused by having been in a twelve-year coma hampered his already limited abilities to get by in the outer world. Phillip had decided that it was best to keep the boy at hand, especially as they didn't trust him.

Greg Powers and John Kirin were currently in a jovial conversation with David and Michelle. Eleanor kept hearing MacLeod's name mentioned. They'd all had dealings with the Highlander over the years and David, John, and Greg had all faced off against him… and yet had survived. Greg and David had been spared… and John… well there was something in the way he'd stood unarmed before Duncan MacLeod and unflinching as the fabled _katana_ had come whipping towards his neck that had evidently reminded MacLeod of Darius. The reformed mercenary was a man reborn… and a man of peace in much the way Darius had been.

Katherine Sutherland, the last of their group was still over at the island's hospital. She'd been informed of the newcomers but had decided to remain there and 'hold the fort' as it were. Katherine was also one of the awakened ones, but her power of speech was unaffected, as she'd awakened in the midst of the quickening that Sarah Manning had released. Had Kenny been at the hospital, perhaps his ability to communicate might have been restored as Carl Robinson's had been.

Carl had left the island as most of the awakees had. He'd wanted to catch up on life in the outer world. Katherine had decided to stay as her last memories were of the death of her husband, Nick Sutherland. Over two thousand years old, Katherine had done everything and been everything in her long life. But Nick had been her true soul mate and she hadn't been ready to face life in the outer world just yet. Learning about Hope, once she'd decided to remain had filled her with longing. "Can we have children with mortals?"

It was one of the questions that Grace, ever the researcher was working on. Now that Hope had been born, the immortals here knew that children were possible for immortals, if they gave up part of who and what they were and lavished it upon a developing child. The child drew in quickening much as a mortal child needed a mother's milk to survive. So far, Eleanor and Grace were the only two who'd successfully delivered a child. And, if Methos' suspicions were correct… a third even now carried one. Kate Devaney.

Laughter surrounded Eleanor and she realized that she'd lost the thread of the conversation. She smiled broadly and glanced around the room, trying to determine what it was that had suddenly sent all of the immortals into gales of laughter.

"Don't worry," Methos whispered as he kissed her ear, "I'll tell you later." Then he set his wineglass down. More loudly he said, "Derrick, I think it's time we had a talk."

Derrick nodded and removed his arm from about Amber. "I think you're right."

Phillip snorted and rose, as did Eleanor so that Methos could rise. "John, keep them all out of trouble and suitably entertained will you?" Phillip said. "We won't be long." He led the four of them into his study and closed and locked the doors.

Methos' attitude immediately changed from benevolent host to an immortal angry that his home had been invaded. "What the hell were you thinking bring this group of misfits here?" he yelled. Eleanor noticed the vein along his right temple was throbbing. Seldom had she seen him so angry.

Derrick paled. "They were lost out there… all of them. I wanted to save them somehow."

"So you bring them here… where the secrets of this place need to be kept secret," the ancient immortal said, closing in on Derrick, whose hands were already in clenched fists. "I thought I taught you the importance of keeping secrets!"

Eleanor swiftly stepped between the two men. "Stop it both of you!" she said pushing them apart, fully aware that both of them towered over her and that physically she couldn't stop them if they wanted this fight.

She glared at Methos, even sending him a clearly thought _Cool it_! as she turned to Derrick. "Bringing strangers here was likely not the best course of action," she said calmly.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," Derrick insisted. "They aren't a danger. They're my friends. Without them… I'd never have made it here."

Methos backed up to pace before the French doors. On the grounds outside he could see and hear the children play. "Do you even realize what's at stake?"

"Do I know they're yours? Yours and Ellie's? Yes. And the boy is a part of me somehow. I don't know how I know or why… but I do. I don't think the others can sense the difference in them. Besides, with so many immortals around, it's likely they're not getting a clear feel for them."

"At any rate, it's done," Phillip said. He'd settled into his swivel chair behind his desk and had steepled his fingers before him. His normally jovial expression was serious and almost deadly. His dark eyes glittered menacingly.

Now that the situation was calmer if not diffused, Derrick took a look around at the artifacts and scrolls that littered the floor of Phillip's study. "What is all this stuff?" He knelt and picked up a carved jade figure from China, running his fingers over it, "This is beautiful." Half the floor and the surface of almost everything in the study were littered with the items that Duncan MacLeod had finally found and sent to Niebos.

"Darius' treasure," Eleanor said flatly. She'd almost thought he'd recognize the items and know what to do with them. Evidently not.

Methos turned to regard the young immortal who had once carried some of the memories of their old friend. He'd been a foundling in Europe mere days after Darius' death in May 1993. He had always almost guessed about his pre-immortal status, although they'd never confirmed that information with him when they were raising him. Methos had always feared that the boy's knowing what he was might prevent his immortality from ever being triggered. And it hadn't been triggered… until six months ago when he'd died saving a woman and her infant from a car wreck that had ultimately claimed his life.

Derrick's brow furrowed and for a moment Methos was struck by the way the young man stood… so like their dead friend. But Derrick shook his head. "I think I recall Duncan saying he was looking for it at Waterloo. He found it then?"

"Yes," Eleanor murmured. She shot a glance at Methos. She'd seen it as well. Of the three of them, she'd likely known Darius the best, even though she was so much younger than he and Phillip were. She'd remained in Paris, a student of Darius' teachings for much of the eight hundred years she'd known the priest. That she had grown to love him over the centuries was something that still made Methos slightly jealous and was one of the reasons he'd feared what a grown Derrick's presence among them would do to his and Eleanor's relationship. He wondered if they were doomed to repeat the errors of their ancient ancestors… the ones whose racial memories they were slowly exploring in the unity bond that had finally, after nearly twelve hundred years, made them truly one. That bond was so intense sometimes, that they'd both spent time convincing MacLeod and a few others that it was not to be taken lightly.

The immortal couple Robert and Gina de Valicourt had bonded despite the warnings, but for the moment, it looked like the two would be fine… even if it had been a rocky few weeks. They'd flown off to Robert's Caribbean island a few weeks ago. "We need some alone time," Robert had said with a wink. Methos had nodded. He knew exactly how Robert felt. Staring at Eleanor now, he was aware that he had no idea what she was thinking… she'd erected her mental walls, as if worried that her thoughts would inflame the situation. He ground his teeth and glared at her. Not knowing her thoughts was inflaming the situation.

Derrick set the jade figure down… not where it had been, but someplace else and then shifted a tablet of hieroglyphic writing to another pile. Methos noticed and stopped himself from commenting. Perhaps the boy… no… the man still knew things that he was unaware of. There was a feeling of rightness in what he had just done.

"Where is Duncan, by the way," said Derrick rising once more to his full stature.

"We don't know, precisely," Methos replied.

"He should be here," Derrick said as he turned about in the midst of the items with a thoughtful expression.

"Yes," Eleanor agreed, "he should be."

"Where do you plan on sleeping?" Phillip said suddenly.

Derrick shrugged. "We'll go back to the ship… although I think Cassandra might prefer to stay with her former student."

Phillip nodded. "Make certain your friends leave their swords behind the next time."

"Me as well?"

Phillip was silent. "The great sword?" he finally breathed out.

"That one and the other one," Derrick replied and drew a _kris_-edged scimitar from his coat. He brandished it a moment… its curved blade like living fire. Then he laid it on Phillip's desk.

Phillip leaned forward, holding his breath, his eyes wide. He licked his lips greedily. "What a beauty," he said breathlessly as he reached for it.

Methos grabbed Phillip's hand. Perspiration was on his brow as if he too were struggling against picking up the blade. Eleanor stepped forward and gasped. Her hands itched to hold it.

"Pick it back up Derrick and put it away," Methos said in a strangled voice.

Derrick did so with a shrug. "I broke Amber's and wanted your opinion about letting her have this one.

Once the sword was out of sight, the three other immortals visibly relaxed, breathing out audibly and with a low moan.

"I guess the answer is not a good idea," Derrick smirked in a tone eerily reminiscent of Methos'.

"Assuredly not," the ancient immortal said with a shake of his head. "Has she held it?"

Derrick shook his head.

"So where did you get that one, young Derrick?" Phillip wanted to know.

Derrick smiled. "In India."

-----

_**Goa, India, 30 October, 2023**_

Kabir Hassani no longer looked quite so confident in the outcome of the fight he had pressed for and seen in his visions for fifteen hundred years. His eyes betrayed his sudden confusion and anger as Derrick had again and again not fallen to Kabir's blade.   
_I can use that_, Derrick thought. He lunged forward suddenly… using Amber's cutlass in slicing moves, which Kabir easily deflected. Then Derrick whirled, raising the cutlass to try for an underhanded slice across Kabir's mid-section. He felt the satisfaction of the solid connection. He pulled the cutlass sharply and felt it slice easily through Kabir's flesh. Derrick continued the turn and backed off… immediately ready for his opponent's answering move.   
But the man backed up… one hand on his stomach, where a red bloom of blood was spreading. "That hurts," he hissed. In a mortal man, it would have been a fatal wound. In an immortal… it was merely an inconvenience… provided he healed before he passed out from loss of blood.   
Derrick decided to press the advantage and make Kabir have to defend. He'd keep him moving, hoping to keep the wound open and pumping precious blood. He began another attack.   
But this time, it was Kabir whose feigning pain drew Derrick in. Suddenly Derrick realized that the elder immortal was launching another series of blows aimed not for him but for Amber's cutlass. He was fending them off before he realized his mistake. The blade shattered… most of it flying off to one side. The next blow disarmed him and the hilt with its ragged short remnant of blade went flying into the air where it somersaulted and then pierced the earth.   
Derrick kept moving. He had no time to think about what he'd done wrong. He was unarmed and had to prevent that scimitar from slicing through his neck. He had one chance. Swiftly he dove and rolled to grasp the hilt of the broken cutlass and hoped to thrust it into his opponent's gut. He'd worry about the head later.   
As he rolled to his back he saw the scimitar raised in the air over his head and beginning to descend. The sunlight reflected off of the _kris_-edge so that it indeed, looked like living fire in Kabir's hands. Derrick had to make his move now. With a sudden cry, he thrust the broken cutlass forward into Kabir's groin, turning it as he did so and slicing to one side. 

Kabir halted his attack as Derrick's blade entered. He gasped in his throat. Blood pumped out of the wound and with the turn and opening, his intestines also began to slide out. Kabir hastily moved a hand to the wound to prevent sudden damage. He wavered on his feet and staggered back and forth. He shook his head, trying to force his dulling mind to focus and to clear the dark spots now appearing before his eyes. Small explosions of orange and white popped in his vision… a sure sign that the brain was struggling with sudden blood loss. He wearily sliced back and forth with the scimitar at an opponent who was no longer there.

Derrick crawled out of the way and stood, wiping his mouth of splattered blood with his sword-hand. Any other opponent would be on his knees. But Kabir's age and power kept him standing. If Derrick didn't move now… Kabir would heal and attack once more. When Kabir staggered and began to slice futilely back and forth, Derrick moved behind him to shove the broken cutlass into the spine between Kabir's shoulder blades. This time he went down and the scimitar rolled from his flinching hand.

Derrick picked it up and raised it, slicing with all of his might. The head rolled. Derrick waited as the body slumped to one side on the ground. The mist of the quickening rose, already shot through with crackling lightning. Above him, black clouds seemed to roll in to cover the blue sky and the sun. Daylight seemed to turn to darkness as lightning sparked about him and thunder rolled. It was going to be a bad one.

Then the power began to pierce him again and again. He felt as though the very lightning of the storm was striking him. It crackled along his nerve-endings and seemed to boil his blood and sear his eyeballs. He screamed in pain. And still it continued.

Then… amongst the flash of raw power and pain, he began to see flashes of memory. _A thousand years of searching. The sheer joy of killing again and again._ These things were Kabir's thoughts… not his, Derrick knew. He spread his arms. If he were to understand his opponent… he had to accept all that Kabir had been into himself.

_He stood over his defeated teacher, who looked up at him with a small smile. "You will never find what you seek," Ahaseurus said. He sliced downward and the world exploded in light and fire. The sun above grew dark and pulsed with black light as five thousand years of memory poured into him… along with the memory of a blue-eyed Goth who bore a sword that pulsed with power._

Derrick felt Kabir's need of that sword. It glowed before him as if it had been some holy relic and whispered in a thousand voices. For the first time in his life, Derrick heard what others had spoken of… the whispering of the sword begging to be used as the justice of the people. He pulled it all into himself. All that Kabir had been, all that Ahaseurus had been, and all that those that they'd killed had been.

_At the base of it all, stood an immortal with the scimitar in his hands while around him were untold numbers of bloodied corpses of mortals and immortals. He looked up with a piercing gaze of blue eyes as if he saw Derrick thousands of years in the future and laughed raucously. He spread his arms and the storm broke about him… a storm that caused the very earth to erupt in giant plumes of molten lava. In his hands, the flame of righteousness reflected the destruction of a world that had been._

Derrick dropped to his knees as the visions ceased and the storm around him intensified. Warm rain fell on him, mingling with his tears. His shoulders shook as he sobbed and tried to grasp who he was… Derrick Foster… little Richard… Rick… Newton, adopted son of Paul and Deborah Newton… younger brother of Ellie Newton… all dead… because of him… because of him… the foundling they'd dared to adopt.

Feeling another immortal move closer, Derrick rose with a growl and in one swift move, turned and managed to place the scimitar against Amber's throat. Her eyes widened and he paused. With a sob he lowered it and pulled her into an embrace, clinging to her as if she were his life preserver in this sea of memories and emotions not truly his. His mouth found hers. He pressed an insistent kiss on her, feeling his need for her rise.

Amber returned the kiss, clutching him as if she feared to lose him.

He bore her to the ground, fumbling with her clothes while she fumbled with his. His need for her was stronger than his fear of discovery. She was his by right and he would have her. His mind continued to roll between who he was and who Kabir had been. He entered her and thrust with desperation, still trying to clear his mind of the other.

Amber did not fight him. Her need for him seemed almost as great as his for her. The union took but mere moments and within it, his tongue moved in patterns over her neck again and again. It wasn't enough, he knew on some level, but it was a start. Shuddering in the climax, Derrick collapsed on her. Above them the storm continued and thunder and lightning filled the air around them. For one moment Derrick flashed again to another landscape filled with fire and blood. He closed his eyes and sobbed as he relaxed against her.

She was his home. She could be the other half of his soul if he let her in. She alone could help him find himself once more. He rose up and kissed her again as if to devour her, and then moved again to her tempting neck that seemed to beg for something more.

"We have to go," she said with a whimper. "Someone will come."

Derrick nodded and rolled off of her, staring at the darkness of the storm clouds and the continued fall of rain, now whipped by winds and feeling cold as it stung his skin. He did up his trousers, noting that she was pulling hers on again.

Amber, with wondering eyes, leaned over to him for another kiss. "I feared I'd lost ya. This sword of yars… it talks."

Derrick nodded, taking it from her hands. "I know. And you felt you had to come."

"I hesitated though."

Derrick smiled. "And in that hesitation… a moment was born that allowed me to win.… to change the future."

He found his coat and slipped both swords into it. "Yours broke." He told her as she pulled the hilt from Kabir's body and looked about for the blade. Perhaps he'd give her the scimitar… but only after he'd let Methos see it. After all, through Kabir's memories and words to him, Derrick understood that the scimitar was like the great sword that he carried and might be dangerous in the hands of another immortal.

He held out a hand to her. "Let's go home."

-----

Derrick shrugged. Evidently he was now the guardian of two of the ancient blades of their collective past. Once more he wondered why it was that he personally neither heard nor was tempted by the swords. They were just old swords; well crafted and unusually strong. But to Derrick… they were only swords. "So what happens now?" he asked the other three.

"You keep those on you," Methos said. "Have any of your friends been tempted by them?"

"Only Amber has seen them. She held the great-sword during my battle with Kabir. She was tempted but hesitated long enough that I was able to defeat him. She's seen the scimitar, but didn't seem interested in it."

"Well keep them out of sight on your person. I don't dare lock them up with the others, I might be tempted to grab one of them," Phillip remarked and slumped a bit in his desk-chair. _Who am I kidding_, he thought. He'd been ready to kill for that scimitar. Already the whispering in his mind had begun. His hands trembled as cackling laughter sounded deep within him and for a moment he could easily see himself pulling a knife along the flawless skin of Sarah Manning. Phillip made a fist and pumped it once as he re-focused. He was not Kingsley. He was Phillip… the swordmaster of Alexander the Great. But in his mind… the laughter continued.

-----


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

**Niebos, December 2023, Later that Evening:**

Sarah Manning had been ecstatic to see her old teacher Cassandra Martin. If she had ever needed to see a familiar and friendly face in this place it was now! The others here seldom talked to her, except Adam and even then, he didn't like to be alone with her or let her touch him. Likely that bitch that was his wife was keeping him on a short leash.

It had surprised her that the woman was an immortal. She'd fully expected that she'd be some mortal lover for whom it would be easy to arrange an accident, when she'd discovered her existence. Then Kingsley had happened.

Sarah shuddered and rubbed her arms. She still had nightmares about her treatment at Kingsley's hands. It reminded her too much of her mortal life when she'd been used and abused by any man with the price of fifteen minutes with her. Ben Adams had been a cold customer who'd been nice to her and stared at her with an absent air. Sarah supposed now it had been because he'd known she was pre-immortal and had been uncertain what to do. At the time though, she'd simply thought he was an unhappy man whose wife had left him. But if this 'Eleanor' was the same woman, perhaps it had been some of both.

Sarah still wished that Adam had told her, or at least killed her, or better yet, taken her away with him until the time came to kill her. She dreamed it would have been while making love to her. He had been a consummate lover and had always made her feel that there was so much more to life than just her petty existence. He could have slipped a knife into her lovingly and then held her until she'd awakened and then made love to her again… washing away all her tears in his love of her.

Eagerly she'd greeted Cassandra and babbled to her about how she had ended up here on this strange Greek Island. Cassandra, it seemed knew Adam… although she evidently hadn't known him as Ben Adams. Sarah could see some wariness in her teacher's eyes and a stiffness that showed that she too was uncomfortable here. Her teacher watched the young one that the island's inhabitants were so happy to see. And in those eyes, was pain and sadness.

"So tell me all about the trip… about him," Sarah asked conspiratorially with a wink. "Is he any good?"

Cassandra gazed at her sharply… evidently surprised that she was so transparent. "Derrick has a great future… if he'd listen to me," she finally said and then just sipped her wine and watched him rise to be closeted with Methos, Eleanor and Phillip. Gods but she'd love to be a fly on the wall in there with them. She had once controlled Phillip with her voice… oh not well and he'd eventually broken free. She'd been surprised that he had so much resistance to her. Cassandra wondered if she could control him again… at least enough to learn what was said.

With the others gone, she'd turned to focus on Sarah, trying to tell her of their journey without really telling her anything. She spoke of the ship plowing through the waves… of the sheer joy of the ocean about her and the clear, blue sky above. She did not speak of the personal relationships… or of her fears that Derrick was doomed to an early death. She still felt that if she could only reach him… make him understand… that somehow all could be accomplished.

After the others returned from their impromptu conference, Derrick gathered the others to return to the ship. Cassandra was given leave to remain here… but Phillip requested her sword.

"My sword?"

"No immortal on the island carries a sword."

Cassandra noticed the way he stood. "And you?"

"That was for today… because of all of you." He reached out a hand as if he were a patient parent. Cassandra snorted slightly.

"Be reasonable, Cassandra," Derrick murmured quietly in her ear. "Otherwise you will need to return to the ship with us."

Cassandra felt torn. Part of her wanted to leave… to continue to be close to Derrick. She met his gaze longingly only to be rebuffed by his expression. Thus the other part of her that was curious took control. She wanted to know more about what was going on here… and Sarah Manning would tell her what she knew. "Very well." She drew her bastard broadsword and handed it hilt first to Phillip. "I expect it back when I leave."

"Of course," the Greek immortal said. He accepted it and turned to leave the room.

"We'll talk more tomorrow," Methos was saying, as he clasped Derrick's shoulder on the way out. The young man smiled with a nod and then leaned down to embrace Eleanor warmly, kissing her brow. Then they were gone… all of her shipmates. As a group they sauntered briskly down the path toward town and to the ship.

Cassandra felt alone amidst strangers she hardly knew. Some part of her wondered at that. She'd been an outsider on much of the trip here… but now she was even more estranged from those around her. Sarah slipped an arm about her. "Come… let's you and I get reacquainted." Cassandra smiled indulgently at her student. Yes… alone in the young woman's room, they could at last speak openly about many things.

-----

There was no moon tonight. Cassandra stepped out onto the small balcony of Sarah's room and rubbed her thin arms in the chill of the winter air. A thick carpet of clouds hid even the stars. Likely the weather would turn rough tomorrow. Turning, she gazed back at Sarah asleep on her bed, the covers twisted about her naked form… an expression of peace on her sleeping face. Occasionally she moaned and mumbled in her sleep… turning slightly and flinching. Then she'd smile and relax. What light there was from the outside shone on Sarah's bare breasts… nipples erect in the chill breeze.

Cassandra sighed and stepped into the room once more, closing the door behind her. It hadn't started this way… but it was what it was. She leaned against the door a moment, recalling the events that had led to this moment.

Memories of Sarah sobbing in her arms and complaining how much she loved "Adam" and how that bitch-wife of his wouldn't share him with her. "I ache from his not holding me," she'd wept. Cassandra had gently shifted Sarah's heavy chestnut hair from her tear-stained face and crooned to her that she understood. Yet she'd been concerned. What would Sarah do to upset the balance between Methos and Eleanor? What would it mean for Cassandra? For Derrick and the future she so longed for? In one brief moment of clarity, she realized that if Sarah did anything to create tension now… that she'd be blamed for it. She had to change Sarah's focus… as she had once before… when Sarah had first been her pupil… still new to immortality.

"Shhh, young one," Cassandra had whispered. "I have you now. It is as I once told you… men are nothing. They think only of their own pleasure and never that of their partner. Men are beasts!" It had been true long ago. Even Cassandra believed it to some extent. Oh she'd had many lovers, both mortal and immortal, including Duncan MacLeod… but in the end… they had all been self-centered and lacking. One of her hands drifted down Sarah's arm lightly caressing her. She pitched her voice just so. "I am here. I understand. I will not desert you."

Sarah's sobs had eased and she'd looked up at her teacher. Her eyes had seemed focused for a moment on some inner struggle. Then she'd leaned in to Cassandra and kissed her firmly. Cassandra had not resisted, just as she'd not resisted Sarah's need for her over a hundred years before. The young woman had been used and abused by men in her mortal life. She and the others of the bordello had often found pleasure in one another. Cassandra thought it was the best way to control her… to keep her off-balance and to keep her from focusing on Methos and Eleanor.

Cassandra had kissed her back and then slipped her hands beneath Sarah's gown to fondle one breast gently. She'd gasped as Sarah's tongue had eagerly explored her mouth… darting as lightly as a moth into the sensitive recesses. Cassandra had lain back, allowing Sarah to take the lead… letting her move aside the gown she'd given Cassandra to wear… softly probing her with her fingers and then her tongue. Exploring her… tasting her. Cassandra had arched her back. Yes! No man ever knew how to please her this way.

Now, staring at Sarah's sleeping form, Cassandra knew that she was as caught in this web in which she'd hoped to snare Sarah, as Sarah was. She needed Methos and the others to trust her. She needed them to open up to her. She needed to know and understand what it was they were all hiding here. She would keep Sarah Manning focused on her and if she were honest with herself, she enjoyed it. Even so… she thought of her longing for Derrick and the way he'd raped her when he'd broken free of her control. Even in rape she'd wanted him. Even terrified and mistreated, he'd filled her desire matched only by her… yes… desire for Methos. How strange it was to both hate and love someone. She'd made her peace with Methos and freed herself from the chains of the past. At least she'd thought she had. She would let him have this life with Eleanor because Derrick wished it… and Derrick was the one she truly wanted. Derrick was the one who truly mattered.

Crossing to the bed, she slipped into bed beside Sarah and pulled her close… softly kissing her. Sarah moaned and began to respond eagerly. This time, Cassandra took the lead and slowly Sarah's back arched, her hands knotted into the sheets. Even as Cassandra worked on her… she thought again of how she'd felt with Duncan… with Kantos… with Methos… with Derrick… with all of her lovers… male and female. She slid her fingers gently over Sarah's skin and moved her mouth back to Sarah's… letting her tongue mirror the movements of her fingers. Again Sarah moaned and sobbed as she clutched at Cassandra's naked back. The night was still young.

-----

Water lapped at the side of the ship, making Amber think oddly of kisses. She closed her eyes as she leaned on the rail and felt the comforting rock of the ship beneath her feet. She'd found that she missed the feel once she'd set off up that mountain in search of Derrick's answers. She didn't know if he'd found them… she only knew he seemed happy and at peace. He was home… to a home he'd never known… but with people who'd known him as a child.

Amber stirred, wondering what sort of boy he'd been. Had he been as mysterious and infuriating as he was now? Had he possessed that child's sense of wonder and magic in all that he saw? He'd spoken of how he'd known of immortals since he was about ten… but she wondered how they'd kept the secret of his impending immortality from him. Evidently they took in pre-immortal children when they found them… as well as child immortals… those strange ones caught in a moment of time before they could mature. Derrick had seemed fascinated by the children when they'd met them… and had glanced after them several times as the afternoon had passed into evening. Amber wondered if his thoughts were of his own childhood. She'd have to remember to ask him.

Behind her she heard Burk and Wingate laughing quietly and the calm steady step of Hikaru Masahiro… always their guard and lookout. She knew that the other five were already below in their two cabins. Likely Michele and David were even now curled in one another's arms as on the other end of the boat, Sean and Dieter made love to Brynn. Amber shuddered… still recalling the tempting feel of the group as all three had made love to her at one time… entering and exciting her in a blur of alcohol, drugs and sex that had seemed right at the time and enduring.

She shook her head. Such a relationship was not one she wanted. Even now the dictates and teachings of Connor MacLeod sounded in her head to keep her blade close and her eyes open. "Be wary of relationships with other immortals."

"Even ya?" she'd asked him in her Boston Irish brogue.

"Especially me… heh… heh… heh," he'd replied with a fey grin."

And she'd followed that dictate for most of her life. She'd been wary of the others and held herself aloof and alone. But Connor was over twenty years dead now. While she still mourned his passing at the hands of a man he called brother… she understood the one rule that existed above all others… "There can be only one."

And yet… Amber sighed as she thought of Derrick and her love for him. He seemed the very opposite of that rule. He seemed to believe that there was another way… a way for all of them to survive if they learned to co-exist. Feeling him step out of the pilothouse and approach, Amber straightened and smiled as his long arms encircled her and hugged her tightly. His warmth surrounded her… a bastion against the cold. He breathed into her ear and chuckled. "What are you thinking about?"

"Is it truth ya want then?" she teased, slipping one hand behind her onto the zipper of his jeans and pressing against him.

He laughed. Amber loved to hear him laugh. It was light, mirthful… and filled with joy. Too much of late he hadn't laughed. She wondered if he'd told his friends of Goa and of what had transpired there. She had to admit that since then… their relationship seemed to be evolving into something else… something better than just lovers.

His lips touched her neck and as always… it inflamed her. She moaned… wanting something and not knowing what… something that somehow began and ended with Derrick. She turned in his embrace to kiss him… exulting in the taste of him. Her arms slipped about him and she felt her need for him rise. She lifted one leg to encircle his waist.

He laughed. "Someone is horny tonight."

"Mmmmm," Amber responded. Maybe so… or maybe it was just not having Cassandra aboard. Amber brushed away the memories of Cassandra's stares… of visions of Cassandra in Derrick's arms… in their bed. She would not think of those things… not tonight. Cassandra was unimportant.

Hungrily she kissed his mouth. He responded… lifting her up so that both of her legs were about his waist. He set her on the railing and eased toward her… thrusting a bit. Amber's hands eased down to the zipper and lowered it, pulling him free and stroking him.

He hissed and lowered his mouth again to her neck… his tongue making patterns on her skin. Amber continued to massage him until he pulled back… his eyes closed as he sought to regain control. One of his hands dropped to his crotch where he stuffed himself back into his jeans. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her below.

"Didn't ya like the danger of doin' it there?" Amber teased him.

"Not there…" he whispered as he laid her on the bed and slowly began to remove her clothing. Only when she was nude before him did he begin to remove his. Then he lowered himself onto her and made love to her slowly and passionately until Amber thought she'd scream to the heavens. As she arched her back and moved in concert with his movements… she had visions of firelight and thought she could hear people around her stomping their feet like the lap of the water… and echoing her moans in their odd grunts.

"One… we are one…" she gasped as she climaxed and Derrick shuddered in his release. He collapsed onto her and then his mouth found hers and kissed her tenderly. "We always were," he whispered. "Then and now and for all time to come."

Amber wondered at his words, and held them in her heart… cherished in her memories.

-----

Methos stretched nude beneath the sheets, his hands behind his head as he stared at Eleanor, still wearing her robe, which she'd donned when she'd gone to check on the children one more time. She sat at the dressing table, brushing her black hair rhythmically… and he found that her motions aroused him once more. He could occasionally see sparks of static in her hair… as if she were crowned by quickening.

"Penny for you thoughts," she said with a grin as she finished up and laid the brush on the dressing table. She rose and dropped the robe on the floor as she approached their bed. Methos stirred and lifted the sheets for her to slip in next to him. He'd been pleasantly surprised that with the bonding between them… the malaise of their earlier attempts to live together over the centuries had faded. He was as eager for her as she seemed for him.

Eleanor cuddled close to him, her green eyes shining. "Come on… tell me!"

"Can't read my mind," Methos grinned as he bent to kiss her lightly.

"Not when you erect walls."

"Sauce for the goose," he murmured.

She pulled back sharply. "What's that supposed to mean? You've been hiding your thoughts since Derrick arrived."

He lay back with a sigh. "And so have you." He pushed down the jealous monster that lurked deep within him. _Choice!_ he thought and smiled at her thinly.

Eleanor sat up beside him, her brows knit in confusion. "Honestly… you never trust me. There's nothing to know." Her mental walls fell and he was aware first and foremost that she was hurt by his comments. The mental walls were a part of them these days. He wondered if they'd been a part of their ancestors too. If those walls, so necessary in a society where thoughts could be read as easily as one drew breath, had helped contribute to that society's destruction.

Still… he could recall the way she'd been lifted into Derrick's embrace and how closely she'd stayed by him. Moreover… she'd interfered when he'd tried to chastise Derrick for bringing the others here. He sighed and kept his walls up.

"Fine," she said and rolled away from him, curling into a ball on her side of the bed. She clapped to turn out the lamp and the room was plunged into darkness. It was a darkness that pressed on him. He counted to ten and then rolled on his side, listening to her methodical breathing slow and growing ever more shallow. He waited for her to fall asleep… aware that her mind was still open to him. All he had to do was reach out mentally… and she would turn to him… but that's not what he wanted. Not tonight. The faint clicking of the old-fashioned clock eventually was the only sound he heard. She was asleep.

Tentatively his hand moved to rest on her side. She straightened in her sleep… but did not awaken. There was something in the bonding that he'd discovered recently… that he had kept buried from her. It was something he was uncertain about… something that made him wonder, as it was so different from what usually happened. Normally when a memory flared… he saw it through her eyes… as she saw his through his eyes. In many ways… they became the other for a time. But this was different. His hand dropped to her smooth, flat abdomen just above the dark triangle of her pubic hair. He'd placed "choice" there long ago… as if to assure her that she would always have the choice in their relationship. He would never force her. He'd broken that pledge to her once when he'd been dealing with a quickening… latching onto a way of thought he'd thought long banished from his soul. She'd forgiven him… and had deepened her commitment to him in its aftermath. "Understanding the other half of who we are is what makes this bond unique," she'd once said. With what he was about to do once more… he was pushing at that bond… seeking answers.

His fingers trailed "betrayal" over "choice" and gasped… even as she arched her back and gasped. He saw only darkness… as if darkness was all that existed in a world that knew no light. He was making love to her. Methos knew the feel of her… the taste of her… it was Eleanor beneath him in whom he thrust in desperation. Her hands were about him… her nails scraping long welts on his back as she moved in rhythm with him faster and faster. He sensed her desire and need for him in the speed of her movements. His eyes were open but he saw, not through her eyes… but his own… and saw only darkness. More by sense than sight, he was aware of the stomping of feet and the cadenced recitation of unknown words. He felt the heat of fire about him… and thrust harder… faster… more desperately trying to possess her. A high trill sounded in his ears as he climaxed… and he was again aware that he lay beside her… that it wasn't him she was making love to in that vision… that it was someone else… that it was to the other she had turned and to whom she'd given her heart. He wanted to scream.

Instead he gasped… breathing evenly and in great gulps as he shuddered slightly from the memory or foreshadowing of another time and place. Methos felt empty inside… as if he'd looked into the face of something he shouldn't have. Next to him… Eleanor stirred.

"Methos," she murmured. If she had any memory or realization of what had happened… she didn't seem to acknowledge it. Instead she turned and nestled in his embrace… her mind open to him and filled with love. Gently he brushed her hair from her eyes and kissed her brow as he held her more tightly. His own thoughts about this he buried deeply within his psyche and hoped she'd never see them.

"Who was he? Who is he? Who will he be?" stormed through his mind. If he pushed this memory hard enough and often enough… maybe he'd know and understand. As he settled to sleep, he was faintly aware that the gouges on his back had healed. Or had they ever even been there?

-----


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 

**Moscow, December 2023:**

Duncan sucked in a great breath and then rolled to his side to retch, aware that some medicine or poison still circulated through his system and that it was keeping him groggy, listless, sick. He sensed immortals nearby… and flung wide his arms… hoping to fend them off.

"Duncan… it's all right," came a feminine and slightly familiar voice. Duncan attempted to focus his eyes and blinked at the too-bright light. He groaned and rolled to his side… retching again in dry heaves. Evidently he'd already emptied his stomach. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

"That's the result of what I had to give him to keep him dead," drawled a male voice… was that Vrej speaking?

"I understand, but why the IV of the poison? My God it must have been a cocktail similar to what you give condemned men. He likely died over and over."

"MacLeod is known to be a fast healer. It would have been most inconvenient for both of us if he'd revived too soon."

Duncan worked his mouth, beginning to feel his tongue and lips again. He'd taken poison… he remembered that now. He felt his arm itch where an IV had been inserted. It had healed… but it still itched… as if protesting that it had been the entry point for more of the poison. He tried to sit up… tried to speak… but his words were a slur of sound and he remained flat on his back. The light still assaulted his eyes and he couldn't focus on the people about him. He struggled to place the names. Vrej he was fairly certain of… but the woman?

"How much longer?"

Another male… and this one's voice made him feel uneasy about lying here helpless. Duncan shook his head and instantly regretted it as another wave of nausea and vertigo hit him. He groaned and drew into himself, shuddering even more. He gave up trying to see or think. He needed his wits about him and he needed them quickly.

"Relax… just keep an eye out!" Vrej told him.

Duncan breathed evenly… trying to regain control. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. He was an immortal. He was born in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel over four hundred years ago… and he couldn't die. Well he could… he just didn't stay dead. He blinked and noted that color had returned to the world… great globs of blurry color.

"Breathe deeply MacLeod," the female continued. "Just focus on breathing."

"Easy for you to say," he tried to tell her. He thought it… it just didn't sound that way coming out. His mouth and tongue still felt numb and difficult to control. He relaxed back onto the gurney and stopped fighting the drugs as he let his natural ability to heal and overcome injury and death take control. Before long he blinked into the smiling face and blonde hair of Reagan Cole. He smiled back at her. A thousand questions crossed his mind as to why she was here… how she'd found him… why she was helping him. But it didn't matter. She was here and he was as safe as he could be under the circumstances.

Duncan lifted a hand and clasped hers… managing a slight squeeze.

"Yeah Boy Scout. You're coming around now."

Vrej stepped forward. "You are in good hands MacLeod my friend. I need to go before I am missed. Until the next time." He saluted Duncan with a wink and then pivoted and left.

Reagan shivered slightly. "I don't know what it is about him… but he's changed."

Duncan closed his eyes and nodded. He was free… and soon he would retrieve his belongings and be on the road once more to find Kate. Against all odds… he'd come out of this one pretty much unscathed.

"Get some sleep, Duncan. We'll keep watch until the effects of the poisons wear off."

"We? Who's your friend," Duncan asked with a slur.

Reagan's breath caught in her throat and for a moment she seemed uncertain. "Just an old friend. Don't worry about anything." She leaned forward and kissed his brow. He smiled, recalling pleasant times with her. She had always been a real tigress and incredibly athletic. He hoped her friend realized how lucky he was. Duncan closed his eyes and sighed deeply, letting fresh air pump into his lungs and speed up his heart as his system fought off the drugs.

-----

How long he rested, was unclear. There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, or even if he'd truly slept. He hadn't died again. Of that Duncan MacLeod was certain. He took a deep breath and slowly sat up on the gurney, the sheet covering him pooled in his lap as his feet dangled free of it. He scratched his beard… thinking of how cold it was here… and how dark. A single exposed light bulb hung from a cord in the in the ceiling, and while it illuminated him… it did little to banish the dark shadows in the corners.

"Hello?" he called out. "Reagan?" He could sense another immortal nearby… but not seeing whom it was made him nervous. Anxiously Duncan looked around for anything that could be a weapon. But beyond the light bulb… swinging wildly now from his jumping to the floor and looking for a weapon, and the gurney… steel but nothing loose to break off… he'd found nothing else.

He tied the sheet about his naked waist and pulled the cord free… removing and tossing the bulb to the gurney. Then he picked it back up and hefted it. It could also be a weapon. He was in the dark now… both figuratively and literally. Finding the entranceway, he pulled at the door… locked. He stood behind it and waited.

Soon the lock snapped as the door was opened. In the light from outside… he saw a shadow and felt the cold brisk air of a Moscow winter. Wherever he was… he was naked, blind, and basically unarmed.

"What the hell?" came Reagan's voice. She turned and backed away from him, sensing him rather than seeing him. "Duncan?"

Duncan relaxed. "It's okay… I just didn't know who was about."

"I went to get you some clothes and something to eat. I'm sorry… I locked the door to be certain you weren't disturbed.

Duncan ran a hand through his shaggy and tousled dark hair. "How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours. Here… let's close the door and get some light back on in here. You'll freeze to death with the door open."

He stepped forward into the rectangle of daylight and showed her the cord in his hands. "I don't think we have that choice."

"Oh jeez!" she replied rolling her eyes. "Here… get dressed."

Duncan shivered in the cold as he pulled on the rough wool clothing. "It smells," he commented.

"Sorry… best I could do."

"Why'd you really lock the door?" he asked as pulled the heavy, rough navy blue sweater on.

Reagan shrugged. "To keep you safe. Besides… with no clothes… you'd have made a strange sight out there… not that you'd have lasted long."

Duncan glared at her and then sat to pull on the gray socks and heavy hiking boots. They were a tad big… but they were something to wear. He tied the laces sharply as he continued to glare at Reagan, who was pacing in and out of the rectangle of daylight. Then he saw another shape in the doorway. Lifting a hand before his eyes, Duncan tried to make the other immortal out.

"Is he dressed?" the man asked. "We need to get moving. I think we are starting to be noticed here."

The voice sounded familiar… but Duncan couldn't place it. He grabbed at the military jacket and pulled it on, finding a stocking knit cap in one pocket. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Reagan threw him the paper bag. "Here… Vrej said you'd need to eat when you woke up.

Duncan's stomach growled, as he smelled the burger and fries. Eagerly he ripped the bag and wrappers away and began stuffing the fast food into his mouth. It was surprisingly good… or maybe he was just so hungry that it didn't make any difference. "How did you find me?" he managed to ask between mouthfuls.

Reagan shrugged. "Call it luck. I was down the street when you were arrested. I contacted Vrej… he's my police contact here in Russia for my bounty jobs." She laughed. "You might say I was in the right place at the right time."

"You and your friend."

Reagan glanced at the open door. "Steven Keane," she finally said softly.

Duncan paused a moment and chewed thoughtfully.

"I hope that's not a problem," Reagan went on.

"Not for me," Duncan replied and then popped the last bite of the greasy burger into his mouth. "I never had a problem with him… but he did with me."

Reagan nodded. "He told me. Ready to go?"

Duncan nodded. Inwardly he was concerned about going anywhere with other immortals… especially as he didn't have his sword. Reagan he trusted… but he had no way of knowing what Keane might do. "I suppose so." He hesitated slightly. "I need to retrieve my weapon."

"Yeah," Reagan said with a wink and a laugh. "I figured as much. Come on you big Scot… I'll protect you." She slipped an arm about his and pulled him toward the light of the outside. Duncan blinked at first until his eyes adjusted. They were in a cemetery… and he'd been in what appeared to be a storage shed on the fringe of the property. Pacing amidst the elaborately carved, cross-shaped, stone markers was a well-dressed Steven Keane. He glanced up sharply as Duncan and Reagan emerged.

"'Bout time! Can we go now?" He unwrapped a stick of gum and tossed away the foil.

Reagan nodded and told him to drive as she led Duncan to a black **_Mercedes_** and opened the rear door. "Don't worry… I'll make certain he has his hands busy."

Duncan slid onto the rear seat while Keane got behind the wheel and Reagan took the front passenger seat. "Where to?" Keane asked as he started the ignition and met Duncan's gaze in the rear view mirror. Duncan saw nothing hostile in that gaze… but it didn't look particularly helpful or friendly either.

"It would help to know where we are," he said. He sat back in the rear seat as he learned they were pulling out of **_Novodevichii Cemetery_** just south of the bend in the river that divided Moscow into two main parts. Duncan mentally called up a generalized map of Moscow in his mind and gave Keane directions toward one of the seedier areas of the city… a place where low-rent and temporary housing was plentiful along with people who asked no questions and were suspicious of the authorities.

As Keane pulled onto the street where Duncan's hotel was situated, he looked about a bit nervously. "I don't want to park here. My car would garner too much attention."

"Agreed," replied Reagan. She turned to Duncan. "We'll drop you off and give you what? Fifteen minutes to get what you need?" Keane nodded his head. He could do some circling about the nearby park and time his return for that.

Duncan agreed. While he did want to check out, it wouldn't take long to gather his money, his papers, and his sword and be off. He found he was anxious to get to the train station. "I won't be any longer," he said as he opened the door and stepped out of the **_Mercedes_**. It paused only long enough for him to slam the rear door before it was off. Duncan snorted. He supposed if he were Steven Keane and owned a nice car in Moscow, he wouldn't want to park it on this street either.

-----

As Duncan entered the seedy hotel, he was aware of the smell of cheap vodka and boiled cabbage that seemed to permeate the air in these lower rent hovels that passed for housing. He claimed his key from the desk clerk and told him he'd be checking out in a few minutes as he bounded up the narrow rickety stairs two at a time. He figured the clerk didn't really care… except in knowing that he could claim a few more Euros if he re-rented Duncan's room.

Arriving on the third floor, Duncan headed down the dark hallway to the end of the corridor. He'd wanted an end room… far away from the stairs and the lift so that he could feel someone coming and have time to prepare if it came to it. It hadn't. He unlocked the door and flipped the light switch.

A small lamp on a wooden bureau came on… flickered… and then went out. He snorted and grabbed his duffel bag, still mostly packed, and threw his few toiletries and washed out underwear in on the top. Then he pulled a chair over to an air vent and climbed onto it. He pried the vent cover off and reached in for the plastic bag that contained three sets of identity papers and passports that he'd had made up in recent months and a pile of cash. He removed the items, replaced the vent and climbed down, immediately distributing the cash and papers in different pockets. He pulled his long coat from the closet and tossed it over the chair.

He then stripped the sheets and blanket from the narrow bed and turned over the thin, stained mattress. He pulled at the threads holding together a small tear at a seam until he could get his hand in to grasp the hilt of his beloved _katana_. He withdrew it swiftly with a flourish, relieved to at last have it back in his hand where it belonged. While he was partly retired from the game, others weren't. It was better to have it handy than to be caught without it. Still, he once more thanked the god of his youth that he hadn't had it on him yesterday when he'd been arrested. He doubted even Vrej could have gotten him out of police custody without incident.

Donning his coat and slipping the _katana_ within it, he shouldered his duffel and glanced around, wondering if he was forgetting anything. He didn't see anything and pivoted on one foot to leave. Without thinking he flicked off the light switch that controlled the burned out lamp and closed the door behind him as he headed for the stairs. The lift, as it had been since he'd checked in, was still out of order.

Arriving on the main floor, he settled up with the clerk, peeling off the required bills from one of the smaller wads of cash and stepped out of the door. Keane behind the wheel of his **_Mercedes_** was pulling up to the curb as Duncan reached it. He opened the rear door, tossed his bag in and climbed in after it, slamming the door shut behind him even as Keane took off again.

"You really don't like this part of town," Duncan laughed.

"A private car in Moscow is an expensive luxury. You're damn straight I don't want it damaged or stolen in this part of town."

Reagan laughed.

"Where to next?" Keane asked.

Duncan was about to say the train station but Reagan gave another address… a set of upscale apartments on the other side of the river.

"I need to get out of town," the Highlander insisted.

"You will," Reagan allowed, but not tonight. We need a place to stay while we work on you and your look and a new identity before you hit the road again. Steven has a private house on the outskirts of Moscow. We're going there."

"A private house?" Duncan asked with a touch of humor. Private homes in the former soviet state were still unusual in the cities and a real luxury.

Keane eyed him in the rearview mirror. "It's not elaborate, it's not big, but it is on a quiet side street in a better part of town where we won't be disturbed.

"I'm dead to the police," Duncan insisted.

"Until they see you," Reagan said. "Not all of them have the most up-to-date reports. You might be seen be some officer with yesterday's folder of photo ID's to look for. Trust me… if you're picked up again, it won't be as easy to spring you."

Duncan sat back, his stomach growling again, partially from the need for food and partially from the stress of being further delayed.

"What's so important you need to leave tonight?" Keane asked.

Duncan said nothing. What he'd done was no one else's business but his. Besides, he wasn't about to explain procreation to an immortal he wasn't certain of. "It's personal," he finally said as he looked out at the passing snow-covered cityscape. Keane pulled into the traffic circle of a large up-scale government housing building.

"Be good now. I'll be about twenty minutes," Reagan said as she climbed out. "Same drill?"

"Same drill," Keane said. The housing was close to **_Gorky Park_** and he planned to take a leisurely drive around that before returning. He glanced back at MacLeod. "I trust you're a man of your word and won't be taking my head while I'm occupied."

Duncan snorted and laid his head back and closed his eyes. Then he glanced back at Reagan's form, vanishing inside her building. "She certainly is something."

Keane nodded with a slight sigh. "I've always thought so. Evidently we share some of the same tastes in women… especially strong women. She certainly was insistent on helping you."

Duncan laughed. "Whereas you wouldn't have lifted a finger."

"To help you? Honestly… no. You are a dark and dangerous man MacLeod… but you have loyal friends. They seem to think better of you than I do." Keane turned the corner and accelerated. "You also spared my life when you had no cause to. I owe you one. While I'm not your friend, I'm no longer you're enemy."

Duncan smiled grimly. "Then that's the first step," he said.

-----

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the curb as Reagan reappeared. She tossed a small overnight bag into the back with Duncan. "Well look here… the two of you both still have your head. Will wonders never cease!" she laughed as she climbed in and slammed the door.

"I promised you I'd behave," Keane said in a teasing voice that left little doubt as to what he hoped to get out of this arrangement.

Reagan chuckled lightly. "Well… we'll see what we can arrange."

Duncan closed his eyes and recalled the last time he'd seen and spoken with Amanda. God but he missed her! Every day and every night of this ordeal he'd missed her. But she'd told him to settle things with Kate and Alistair. She understood he was committed to helping them. At the time, he hadn't thought he'd be gone this long and he wondered where she was.

A fine rain was beginning to fall. Rain in December? Almost unheard of in Moscow where snow and frigid temperatures were the norm… but then the weather this year had been warmer than normal. He watched the passing building grow smaller and smaller and the trees larger and larger until they were in an area of tract houses… small, single-family homes that all looked alike on postage stamp lots. It was what passed for upper middle-class in modern Russia.

Keane pulled into the drive of one on a side street and parked. He turned off the ignition. "We're here."

Reagan peered through the droplets of rain building up on the windshield. She whistled. "You weren't kidding about it being small and unassuming. I likely have more room in my apartment."

Keane shrugged before opening the door and getting out. "At least it's more private than the housing units. MacLeod should be safe here." He slammed the door.

Duncan sighed and climbed out, tossing Reagan her small bag and withdrawing his larger one. He hadn't started this trip with all of this, he'd just picked up things as he'd changed and created new identities in his attempts to stay off the radar of Interpol. He'd had to leave the name of Duncan MacLeod behind him, and that was the cruelest cut of this… save for his leaving Amanda.

"It's bigger than my room… but just barely," he chuckled and winked at Reagan who laughed with him. Keane gave them both a withering look while stepping to his door, unlocking it, opening it and stepping aside to show them in.

-----

Reagan tossed and turned on the daybed, finally throwing back the covers. She was drenched in sweat and could just make out the digital time: 3:58. She growled to herself that she was so restless and finally sat up, dropping her bare feet to the cold floor. She knew what was bothering her. It was being in a house with two old lovers… and choosing to sleep alone… her sword within easy reach. She rose, stretched her lithe body, clad in an old undershirt and panties, yawned and then, with sword in hand, padded to the door of Steven's computer room and opened it.

Steven's house had a small front room with attached dinette and kitchenette… barely even a galley kitchen. Besides the one bathroom, he had two bedrooms. One he'd fitted out as his computer and media room; the other was his with its welcoming king-sized bed that practically took up the entire room. Reagan had wondered how the hell he'd gotten it into the house… much less the bedroom.

The media room had a daybed in it. "For guests," Steven had said, evidently expecting MacLeod to take that. The Highlander had snorted and dropped his bag next to the sofa in the main room. That had allowed Reagan the chance to take the daybed.

Steven's face had fallen slightly and reflected his disappointment. But Reagan wasn't saying "No" so much as she was saying, "Not tonight." She couldn't go to one and let the other hear. She was a free spirit who chose and discarded lovers with ease… but she'd felt on the spot earlier and MacLeod had evidently noticed it. If he'd taken the daybed, she'd have been expected to sleep with Steven and, in this small house, she just wasn't ready.

She closed the bathroom door and in the glow of the nightlight Steven had left on for his guests, she used the toilet and then washed her hands and face, noticing how the dim light accentuated the shadows under her eyes.

She loved them both in her own way. She and MacLeod had one of those relationships where if they met and both were free… they made mad, passionate love and then separated as friends. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been involved with Amanda again. After the battle in Switzerland where she and other immortals had banded together with MacLeod to stop the experiments on their people by renegade Watcher Henry Rawlins, she'd seen him welcome, with great relief, Amanda into his arms at the end of the battle. It looked like they were moving to something deeper and more profound than the occasional tryst.

Steven had always been the gentleman with her… but he'd wanted more from her than she'd ever been willing to give. He wanted her to give up her life and live with him in some sort of long-term immortal wedlock. That idea frightened the hell out of her. So she'd always moved on. She liked her life the way it was. She thrilled in the excitement and the danger of being a female bounty hunter in a man's world. She just didn't want to be an adornment on the arm of Steven Keane… or on the arm of any man.

And these thoughts had plagued since they'd retired after dinner and had led to her sleeplessness. Leaving the bathroom, she paused in the hallway, looking left toward the main room and then right toward Steven's bedroom. She could hear the even soft snore of MacLeod and the silence of Steven. Mac, she knew, would have his katana at hand and be up in a flash if she came toward him. Steven would waken and pull her into bed with an almost obsessive sob.

Reagan Cole wasn't ready for either… and she didn't want to hurt either one. With a deep and determined breath, she returned to the computer room and dropped once more onto the bed. It was the safest course.

In his bedroom, alone in the great bed, Steven Keane turned his face into his pillow while silent tears fell. She hadn't come to him. Why? Why not? MacLeod… it had to be MacLeod. Jealousy reared its head deep within him. Why was it that MacLeod was so loved… while he, Steven Keane, was the honorable one?

-----


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

**Niebos, Greece, December 2023, the next morning**

Pale shafts of early sunlight, still red from the dawn crossed the bed, pausing on Eleanor's closed eyes. She blinked in the sunlight of the winter morning and stretched. Beside her, Methos still dozed. She leaned over him, kissing his lips lightly. He grunted and rolled to his other side. She grinned and rose, feeling the winter chill that was not quite winter in Greece. She was on duty at the hospital today and needed to make an early start.

Dressing warmly in slacks and with a sweater over her turtleneck, and then pulling on the dark boots with which she always had sure footing, she left their room and paused in the hallway with her eyes shut a moment.

She could feel Denara and Marianna in the next room, still sleeping. She could sense Phillip just down the hall and in other rooms further, Cassandra and Sarah, Greg, Katherine and John. Grace and baby Hope were beyond her sense. J.D., Denis and Kenny were already downstairs, likely planning their day.

She sighed deeply, wondering how the arrival of Derrick and his friends would continue to change their lives here. She'd been hoping to get back to Virginia… to their home there… and to get J.D. back into school. She'd been continuing with his lessons while here as much as she could… but sometimes days went by without her thinking about them. Then she'd set him down for a morning or an afternoon and school him as well as she could. Their brief vacation was becoming anything but brief and there were moments when she despaired of ever again having that quiet life with Methos and the children far away from other immortals and the vestiges of the game that yet remained. But they were safe here. At least they always had been. Maybe that was the trade-off now.

Shaking her head to brush away her contemplations, she skipped down the steps and into the dining room where the buffet had been set up, as it was most mornings. Phillip's housekeeper, Maria Elena Kostas would arrive at dawn and set out the boxes of cereal, the bowl of fresh fruit, the milk and juice, the sweet rolls and or Danish, and make the coffee. She would check in as the immortals arrived for breakfast to see if they wanted something hot or different.

The three boys… two immortals and one boy she corrected herself… sat hunched over cereal. Denis, always the leader was talking about an expedition to the north shore of the small island, and J.D., ever the follower, was eager to go. Kenny as usual was silent and glum. He could add nothing to the conversation, but would follow where the others went. Eleanor still thought she caught something dark and malevolent in his eyes some times. But it was quickly gone. The boy-man could not exist in the world at large with his current inability to communicate; nor did he seem to want to leave. He looked up at her as she entered and regarded her soberly.

Eleanor felt a chill along her spine and worried just what was going on his mind. He wasn't a child… he only looked like one. The same could be said of Denis, but Denis had always enjoyed life in a way that Kenny never had. Denis had led a fairly sheltered life at the convent school, _Ste. Genevieve_ in Alsace-Lorraine whereas Kenny had made a name for himself as a headhunter of the unwary of their kind. "If there can be only one," he'd once told Duncan MacLeod, "Why shouldn't it be me?" He was dangerous and all of them on Niebos knew it. Denis knew it… but Eleanor wondered sometimes if he could prevent Kenny from doing something he shouldn't. And yet… J.D. lived because of Kenny's actions the day of the _tsunami_. Was it part of some larger plan of evil… or was he truly learning to change? Eleanor didn't know.

"Morning Mom!" the nearly thirteen-year-old J.D. said. His birthday would be in a few days. "We're going fishing."

"Have you done some lessons?" Eleanor turned to pour coffee, her morning lifeline, and tried to recall what she'd last given him to do.

"Aw Mom… we're on vacation!" he replied with a sulk. "Christmas vacation now."

"Uh huh… and when we get back… will you be a year behind in your studies?"

"I'm helping him with history," Denis insisted. After all, J.D. knew about immortals and that Denis and his lost friend Chou were immortal.

"I know," Eleanor said as she sat across from the boys. "But he needs mathematics and language skills and science as well."

"We study the fish," J.D. insisted. "And I count the fishing boats."

Eleanor smirked. "Somehow I don't think that will quite fit the bill. I have duty today. Be back by three and ready to study. I'm thinking a long essay about your day."

J.D. groaned and tossed his spoon into the bowl where it clattered on the edge of the crockery and bounced onto the table. A small pool of milk splashed about it.

He was reaching an age where instead of blindly doing what his parents asked, he had to express his distaste for them and for what they wanted. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.

"Yes… I think an essay about your day's activities will be an excellent start," she replied coolly and sipped the coffee. "As you go through the day, think of how to describe the things you do, see and learn."

J.D. looked about the room, slowly working his mouth around and evidently managing not to say whatever he was thinking of. Eleanor sighed. Derrick had acted like this on occasion and so had Joshua so many decades ago. It was part of growing up. But J.D. was her son in ways the others never had been, and she'd watched him grow and wanted so much more for him. He seemed these days to thrive on showing his independence. It was part of growing up; it was necessary; but it hurt.

The three boys silently left the table moments later. Denis gave her a brief nod as if to say he'd talk to J.D. about it. How much longer he'd be the leader of this odd group was something Eleanor wondered about. Kenny was the oldest in years; if his voice returned… when it returned… he'd make his feelings known. But J.D. was the oldest physically. Denis and Kenny had both died about the age of ten and been frozen in childhood before the age of puberty. While their minds developed and aged… their bodies never did. J.D. was already a head taller than both of them. It wouldn't be long before he'd leave them behind completely… at least physically. It was inevitable.

Maria Elena had entered to ask about a hot breakfast as Cassandra and Sarah entered. Eleanor asked for some oatmeal and observed the two women as they laughed and touched one another at the buffet.

Sarah was obviously infatuated with Cassandra. _Maybe that's a good thing_, Eleanor thought. _Anything to distract her attention from Methos!_ As for Cassandra, the psychic seemed at ease and even glowing a bit this morning as if she'd spent a pleasant night. Eleanor wondered if this was something new for the two of them… the former slave and the harlot… or if it was something they'd had before. Deciding it was none of her business, she asked no questions and made no comment.

The three chatted about nothing important while Eleanor ate her oatmeal. Then she excused herself with a glance at her watch and headed for the hospital that Phillip had built for his people on this island… the mortals who kept his secrets. It also served people on adjoining islands who came by ferry or fishing boat to be treated.

Once at the small hospital, Eleanor donned her white coat and checked charts to begin her day. Sensing Grace in the lab, she stopped there first.

"Was it a quiet night?" she asked upon entering. Grace was seated at a lab table in front of a computer hooked to the electron microscope. On the screen was the peculiar triple helix of one of the children. Nearby in a playpen, the nearly three-month-old Hope lay sleeping.

"Very quiet. I actually got quite a bit of work done," Grace replied and gestured toward the screen. "That is Hope."

Eleanor leaned over and stared at the triple helix… a perfect one.

"All three of the children have it," Grace reminded her. "Now what I need is Alisaunne's DNA."

Eleanor straightened at the mention of her other child. "She can't come here Grace. She nearly went mad the last time. She's still psychically linked to Nestor."

Grace sighed with a nod. "I know that… but could there be a way to at least get a sample? My research needs hers to see how it resembles the children's and ours. Hers may hold the key."

Shrugging, Eleanor continued. "It's likely the same as ours… a double helix with that odd node at the bottom and signs of breakage." If theirs had once been a triple, it wasn't any longer, but some of them still had odd broken branches that showed where a third strand might once have been.

"I don't know," Grace admitted. "Alisaunne has always seemed different to me. Still… I'd like to have her tested." She turned off the monitor and turned to Eleanor. "Which brings me to my next question. I want permission to get a sample of Derrick's."

"Derrick's? Why his?" Eleanor said with surprise.

"Because he is unlike any immortal I have ever met. When I first met him… that day in Paris when he came searching for a doctor to look at you… I thought for a moment that it was Darius. Even yesterday, there were moments when that thought crossed my mind."

Eleanor started slightly at Grace's words. Finally she nodded her head in agreement slightly. "I thought that the first time I met him when he was six years old. As we later learned, his birthday followed by less than a day Darius' death."

"And Darius' quickening was never released," Grace went on insistently. "What if it returned to us in another form?"

Grace had never been told about Derrick's visions of battles or his knowledge of things that Darius had known. Over the years as he aged, he'd forgotten most of it… except perhaps that he had once known these things. Eleanor shivered suddenly at the thought and smiled thinly. "Yes… that would make him unique… but you'd have to ask him."

Gratefully Grace clasped Eleanor's hand and squeezed it. "I'm going to find the answers. I have to. I don't want the game to be something that Hope ever has to face."

Eleanor nodded. The vestiges of the game still frightened her in her concerns for the children. And she often wondered what would happen to them when they were grown. Would they have to kill them to make them immortal… or would they allow them to grow old and die. It was all too new… and that choice was still years away. Still… it waited for her like some predatory bird settling in to watch them all… waiting for its moment to pounce.

Grace rubbed her eyes. "I'm going back to the villa now. I think I need to get some sleep and turn Hope over to John or Greg for a bit. I sometimes wonder how mortal single mothers manage," she laughed wearily. "It takes all three of us to keep up with her and she's not even three months old yet. What will she be like in a year? In two years? In ten?"

"A handful," Eleanor agreed with a laugh, thinking of her own thoughts about J.D. earlier. She went over some patient notes with Grace and then on to rounds after Grace left. She hoped the day would be as quiet as the night had been. It was only after Grace had left that she'd recalled that she'd wanted to talk to her friend about some dreams she was having. Well… it would have to wait.

-----

The gentle lapping of water woke Amber. She opened her eyes to see Derrick leaning on one arm and regarding her with amusement. "It's about time you woke up," he laughed and then bent to kiss her, sliding his tongue into her mouth gently and teasingly before biting her lip and pulling it with his teeth.

Amber reacted physically, feeling her need for him in her erogenous zones as she always did. Her hands slid over his firm, hard body as she pulled him down onto her. God, but he's like some Greek god in the way he looks and feels to me, she thought as she arched her back to press against him in desire. He nuzzled her neck and worked down to her breasts… already she thought she would scream in delight. "Take me now," she moaned. "Take me hard and fast."

"My way is better," he said and teased his tongue and mouth over her. From some distant place she heard drums beating and feet stomping as voices chanted. Likely it was just the rising rhythm of her heart, but Derrick was becoming as necessary to her as breathing. She gripped his back, digging in her claws that somehow never managed to scratch him and moved up and down in anticipation. "I need you!"

He laughed lightly and continued to move over her methodically. Her skin was on fire. Grasping his head she brought his mouth back to hers and then reached for him, grasping him tightly and moving him toward her spread legs. Derrick shifted free with another laugh and flipped her over to work on her back.

"Dammit!" Amber cried out, her words muffled in the pillow. She stretched and moaned… feeling more alive than she had felt in her over two hundred years. She shivered in anticipation and wept from her desire. At last he turned her back, entered her and slowly built her to a climax that encompassed her mind… body… and soul.

Afterwards she curled against him. "How do ya do that?" she wanted to know.

"Do what? Love you as you should be loved?"

"Drive me crazy, ya boyo." She sighed deeply. "Ya curl ma toes ya know."

He laughed and covered her with one leg as he hugged her tightly, rocking her in the aftermath of their love. "You make me happy," he said simply.

Amber touched his face and stared into his blue eyes. "I never lived until there was you," she said honestly.

He kissed her again and then rolled onto his back to stare at the overhead bulkhead. He let out a long sigh. "I feel like we've come to the Promised Land. We're here… and we never have to leave again."

"Yar home maybe. I'm not so sure myself. But then… you _are_ my home," Amber laughed and leaned over him to give him a peck on the end of his aquiline nose. She scrambled from the bunk, donning her robe and searching for clothes and her toiletries to take to the head while he put his hands behind his head and watched her. Once again she thought of some marble statue of a god and shivered. _God he is gorgeous_, she thought and then blew him a kiss as she left their cabin.

After she left, Derrick rose and pulled out the two swords he carried… the great two and a half-hand broadsword and the elegant scimitar. Phillip hadn't wanted either one left at the villa. Derrick shrugged. Neither sword spoke to him the way others said they did to them. He'd hoped to give one to Amber, but evidently that wasn't to be. "What do I do with you now?" he wondered aloud. He slid the ancient broadsword back beneath bunk's mattress and began to work out with the scimitar. With its single-edged blade, it required a different method of fighting. Methodically he began his _kata _with it… moving slowly in a stylized manner that made the most of its lighter weight and smaller size. With this he could slice and cut deeply. He'd been lucky in his fight with Kabir. He'd been horribly unprepared for that fight… for that method of fighting and while he'd had some knowledge of using other weapons, he'd never thought about a challenge using anything but his broadsword. But if he'd lost… he couldn't trust what would happen then. But this one… dangerous it was, but it had never grabbed Kabir's soul the way thoughts of the broadsword did. Yes it had spoken to him… but not tempted him.

He began to move faster, already thinking that he needed to workout with all of the immortals here. He needed to push himself against the abilities of the others, especially Phillip. Methos had always told him to be prepared for anything and to be flexible enough to be surprising. Derrick had fallen into the habit of being predictable and until now, had not really thought about it. With two quickenings within him in less than a year of immortality… he realized he was a likely target for others. He needed real practice or his life would be a very short one indeed.

He focused on his movements and the familiar sounds of life aboard the ship faded to the background. Familiar voices and footsteps became one with his heartbeat and sunlight reflected off the water was like sparks of a campfire, rising in the night. The sound of his heart beating within him was like a thousand voices raised in a chant that he didn't quite understand… and Derrick Foster felt that he was poised on the edge of a blade that waited for his next move.

----

Entering the dining room, Phillip paused a moment to watch Cassandra brush Sarah Manning's hair out of her face. He smiled, brushing away the cruel laughter that begged release. He'd been overly obsessed with Sarah and her attentions to Methos whom she called Ben sometimes and Adam others as she heard that name used by the rest of them. She likely still didn't know who he was or how old he was… and now, Sarah had found something with Cassandra… Phillip was pleased. She'd be less likely to create trouble.

But two things worried the swordmaster. One was Cassandra even being here with her powers of persuasion and her latent hatred of Methos. The other was Kingsley's quickening and how it made Phillip obsessed with torturing Sarah. All of Kingsley's memories of torture were a part of him now… and they simmered just beneath the surface of the usually jovial and placid Greek. Put those two together and he could see trouble coming. He shook his head to clear it of the thoughts and smiled warmly, "Good morning ladies; sleep well?"

They looked up at him with matching expressions of amusement.

"Don't answer that," Phillip chuckled and poured himself some juice. Maria Elena had heard his booming voice and was immediately present to take his order: eggs over easy in butter, ham, biscuits and gravy, with some jam on the side. He thoughtfully drank his juice and watched the two women. His reverie was thankfully broken by the arrival of Denara and Mariana, the latter throwing herself into his arms where he lifted her to his lap and held on to her like a lifeline, feeling the slight pull of her at his power. She'd been drawing from him quite a bit in recent weeks and he wondered if she knew on some level that he was struggling. Phillip needed to talk to Methos and Eleanor about their daughter. She was too old to be drawing such power and she didn't seem to draw much from the other two. He didn't mind, he just thought it odd. "There's my girl," he laughed and settled her on his lap, watching the tiny Denara pour herself a cup of hot tea and climb carefully into a chair.

"What is it about you and that child?" Sarah asked suddenly. Phillip shot her a dark glance and then relaxed.

"He's Opa," Marianna said, tucking her head next to his chest.

"That's an odd name," Sarah replied.

Marianna shrugged. There were times she seemed to understand the words of the adults around her in ways they could never comprehend… and at others, she seemed blissfully unaware of anything more than having so many adults around who cared for her.

"What do you want for breakfast Little One?" Phillip asked gently. Marianna seemed to be the only one these days that he still felt like himself around. When she was in the room, he could be Phillip again and banish the dark thoughts that plagued him.

"Melon!" she giggled.

"You always want melon," Denara snickered from her place.

"I like melon," Marianna insisted and scooted off of Phillip's lap to raid the fruit bowl. Phillip rose to help her and soon she was eating wedges of fruit, her cheeks and chin sticky with their juice, and drinking milk so deeply that a white mustache formed on her upper lip.

Gradually John, Greg, Katherine and Methos joined them. When her father arrived, Marianna had finished and gone to climb into his lap. Phillip felt a pang of jealousy that he quickly buried, while he let his happiness for his ancient friend wash over him in waves.

Conversation was about the newcomers with Cassandra answering questions as she could. At Methos' arrival, she'd pulled away slightly from Sarah and sat holding her teacup before her as she replied. Sarah had seemed momentarily crest-fallen, and stared at Cassandra to the exclusion of the others.

The day was off to an interesting start.

-----


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_**Outside of Arnhem, Netherlands, late October 2023, two months ago:**_

The immortal now calling himself Ren Caulfield, a writer of historical romances, had returned without incident to the small village on Arnhem's outskirts and had resumed without comment his regular and mundane life.

At least to his Watcher Gladys Morgan that was how it seemed. She'd hidden herself within her identity as a Dutch woman who worked at the small inn in the village where Caulfield came everyday for meals. He evidently did little cooking of his own. Although he was never regular in his time of arrival or which meal he was there for, he would come each day.

Gladys had once heard him tell Old Klaus Van der Nört that sometimes he got so into his writing that he just didn't feel the passing of time until his body yelled, "Feed me!" At that point, he'd save what he'd written, and come to the inn not just for food, but also for conversation.

The regulars there knew he was a writer and was writing some novel about the area. He often asked questions of the old men who sat smoking in the dining room of the inn or of the old grandmothers who swept the walks. They often wondered what sort of book he was writing.

Gladys, using her Dutch great grandmother's name, Mjet Dörnhoff, could have told them, but she held her tongue, kept his coffee cup filled when he was there early in the day and his glass of beer if it were late, and smiled at him, chatting occasionally about nothing. She'd been greatly relieved that he'd returned in one piece from Paris. She'd done some additional research on her handheld computer with its secure link to the Watcher database on the "dark lady of Paris." She hadn't found much else except that she thought her dangerous… as did the Watcher Tribunal in general as well as in their mandates to leave her alone within the _olde cite_.

But Ren did seem changed. He would stare at nothing for long moments in the dining room, as if recalling some incident of his long past. Gladys had seen him look that way occasionally in the past, but now it would be everyday. She hoped it was the far past of his young immortal life that mesmerized him and not his recent meeting with Paris' "dark lady".

She also worried about his mental state. That had always been a red flag on his file… and something that his Watchers over the years had taken into consideration with him. He believed too strongly in the ideals of his youth, and in people who were close to his heart. He could strike out at friends suddenly if they belittled his fascinations; he could even kill a student at a moment's notice.

Yet for the most part, he was an unassuming and quiet man, not given to moving about the world as some of his kind tended to do. Gladys had loved becoming his Watcher when he moved here as it had given her the opportunity to use the Dutch she'd learned at her grandmother's knee and to honor her memory a bit by using her name and living in the land of her birth. Mjet Dörnhoff had married Corporal Terrence Morgan not long after Word War II and bid the Arnhem region goodbye as she'd moved with her soldier husband back to England.

Now, filling Caulfield's glass with beer, she wondered uneasily if his mind were slipping again… if all too soon he would begin killing those around him who tried to help. He stared back at her and blinked as a little of the beer slopped onto his hand.

"I am so sorry," she said to him and quickly dried his hand with her towel.

He continued to stare blankly at her and then at his glass. "I'm certain it was an accident. Don't give it another thought."

She curtsied her thanks and moved on to the next table, but her thoughts were still on him. Already Caulfield was back in his reverie and Gladys' worries grew. She'd have to let her supervisors know. Maybe she ought to wait a few more days though. Maybe she shouldn't worry quite so much.

-----

His romance novel set against the World War II battle for Arnhem Bridge had stalled. Every time Ren tried to write a love scene for his Scottish hero and the Dutch woman he loved, it turned into his night with the mysterious Ali. He knew this as the blonde Katya of the story became crowned with a head of dark curls that smelled of jasmine. His traditional heroine kept morphing into a slim, athletic, but well-endowed freedom fighter instead of the shy schoolteacher he'd envisioned for this story.

Day after day, thoughts of Ali, visions of Ali, and page after page of description of Ali filled his life. The Battle of Arnhem, in which he'd participated as part of a Scottish regiment, vanished in the mists of time, and the only reality he knew was in a Paris hotel room.

At least once each day he fingered the slight scar on his neck where her blade had rested and he longed for her like a man dying of thirst in the desert longed for water. It had been too long since he'd truly allowed himself to love. It hurt too much when they died or he left them. He wanted her back… despite the inherent dangers. He wanted her back! And then… what? Ren didn't know.

He paid for his dinner and his bar tab before leaving and stepping into the cold October night. He pulled his heavy jacket close, even as he realized it was not as cold as he thought. Nevertheless, Ren blew on his hands and rubbed them before stuffing them deeply into his pockets and setting off down the dark cobbled street of the village. He loved it here. It reminded him of life centuries ago before technology homogenized life in the world so that a **_McDonalds_** stood on every corner or a **_Blockbuster_ **stood in every village square or the same rock songs blared from speakers throughout the world.

As he walked, his footsteps on the stones echoed in the darkness against the façades of the dark or dimly lit houses. His rental house was on the outskirts, a good ten-minute walk from the inn and one he normally enjoyed. In recent days however, it had served mainly to give his mind idle time to let thoughts of Ali wash over him. Never in his seven hundred or so years had a woman so engaged his mind.

The echoing footsteps themselves had echoes now. Ren paused a moment. The echoes stopped. He looked up at the star-filled sky and then behind him, wondering if someone were there. He considered calling out to them. Likely it was just a neighbor also on his way home. But some inner alarm made him uneasy. Perhaps it was just that immortal inner sense that spoke of danger or perhaps it was nothing at all. Slowly he began walking again, but this time, he slipped a hand inside his coat and grasped the hilt of his shortened claymore. He would be ready… just in case.

He felt the unseen immortal's presence just short of his house. It was approaching quickly, the footfalls sounding in a swift staccato beat. Ren wheeled as he pulled the claymore. Their blades met.

"Hansen," Ren spit angrily.

"You are a hard man to find," the young immortal with the flowing locks of brown hair said. His basket-hilted, _kris_-edged rapier was longer than Ren's broadsword and the trim, muscular assailant had evidently been working out in recent years.

Ren managed to push him off and reset into a stance so that he slammed four blows in Hansen's direction, all easily and equally parried.

"You've learned a few things," Ren told him.

"And I never forget," Victor Hansen hissed.

"Thought you were more into thievery than revenge," Ren said, backing up and parrying off Hansen's blows.

"That depends. When someone upsets my plans and turns me into the police… I make allowances for revenge." He shifted to his right and lay on again. One blow sliced across Ren's arm. Ren saw red. With a sudden growl he furiously attacked… beating his opponent back, back, back, and then down to his knees even as he disarmed him. He rested his claymore against Hansen's throat.

"Say goodnight Gracie," he quoted grimly.

"Go to hell!" Hansen yelled.

"Been there; it's highly over-rated," Ren said grimly and swung his claymore. He nearly dropped it in the glory of the quickening as it rammed over and through him, letting him see things with a clearer eye, letting him see new perspectives of old encounters, letting him see again the faces of betraying friends and lost lovers. When it ended, he was on his knees sobbing.

He heard voices in the distance, looked around, grabbed his claymore, and then swiftly ran to his house to let himself in. They'd find the body. They'd come for him. Even now they were on their way. He rambled through the house grabbing a few changes of clothes and then staring without comprehension at them in his hands. Slowly he returned them, still in the bag, to the closet and entered the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and stared into the mirror. "Breathe," he said. He hid his sword in the air vent of his bedroom, checked the floor and his person for blood, threw off his coat and donned a sweater. Opening the door he stepped out, rubbing his arms. "What's happened?" he asked the crowd of villagers not far down the road.

"A dead man," one of them said.

Ren joined them to stare in horror at the headless corpse in the center of the road, the rapier lying near him.

"Damnedest thing," one man was saying. "I think he got hit by that freak lightning and it took his head off."

"_Ja_," said another pointing at Hansen. "But why does he have a sword."

No one knew… and Ren Caulfield held his tongue. But for the first time in weeks, he was ready to write again. The battle scenes around which his book was plotted were once more flowing through his mind.

-----

_**Paris, November 2023:**_

It had been three weeks since Alisaunne had sent Ren Caulfield packing, and the days had nearly blurred one into another. She'd yet to hear back from her parents on Niebos and, in truth, she wasn't even certain the message had gone through.

From what she'd read about the _tsunami_, wireless connections had been out sporadically in the area. She could always email them again… and yet she waited. Each day she'd open the account praying something would be there. _They should call me!_ She insisted to herself, aware that she was letting bitter tears sting her eyes.

She had never known them growing up… they'd never known her. They were just two immortals who had known Darius. And yet… it hurt that Eleanor didn't call once a week to chat with her… that Methos didn't call to give her sage advice… that they seldom thought of her at all.

"Bastard stepchild," she muttered and switched to a news page, scanning the headlines for news of beheadings and or freak storms in the area. She saw nothing and shut the computer off with a snarl. Along one arm, scars bubbled up, itching and burning. She ignored them and they faded. Perhaps that was the way to defeat the omnipresence of Nestor in her mind… let him have small victories… let him wash over her without restraint, and then ignore him.

"I'm getting stronger you old pervert," she hissed as she rose and shoved a row of books onto the floor, grinning at the scattered mess they made. One book fell open to a Van Gogh painting… _Starry Night_. Idly she picked it up and smiled.

_**Paris 1991**_

"They don't look like stars, she insisted to Uncle Jacques. "They look like fireworks!"

"The idea is that the stars are so enduring that they blot out all else."

She giggled. "That's silly. Stars are little tiny lights in the sky."

"Ah… but up close _mon cher_… they are enormous balls of light that would obliterate the world and blind one little girl." He tapped a finger on the end of her nose as he laughed. Alisaunne loved to hear Uncle Jacques laugh.

"Did he know that?" she asked thoughtfully staring at the painting.

"Well he must have if he painted them. Sometimes what we see with the naked eye is not the truth. Sometimes truth lies in dreams… or in memory."

She curled close to him while she contemplated the rendition of the artwork. "Then maybe he saw the future," she said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps he did," Uncle Jacques replied softly. "Perhaps he did."

"Silly Darius," Alisaunne remarked, snapping the book shut. "No one can see the future. He was just a crazy artist wigged out on drugs half the time." Slowly and methodically she set the books back on the shelf, carefully arranging them by subject. The picture had helped banish Nestor's thoughts and emotions once more and she was calm. Until she found and destroyed him… he'd always be with her and she would never know true peace or happiness. The problem was… if she killed his present form… beheaded it… he would live unchecked within her and she knew it. And therein lay the conundrum. How did she destroy an undying monster who refused to die? How did she free herself from him and what he'd done?

Thoughtfully she rose and tapped a finger on her computer. Perhaps she should send them another email. She chuckled. Maybe tomorrow… or the next day.

Grabbing her short black jacket with the funky fur collar, she skipped down the stairs of her apartment building and sauntered along the street. It was a brisk day in Paris and she felt like a long walk. Her arms swung back and forth and she grinned at babies in strollers and at young lovers hand in hand. It was great to be alive! And for the afternoon at least, Nestor was nowhere around.

-----

Joe Dawson cleared his throat before beginning his dictation and watched the cursor on the screen blink expectantly.

"Testing, one, two, three… testing," he said and chuckled to watch the words appear on the screen. He hit the erase key to start over.

"November 10, 2023, Joe Dawson, Watcher _emeritus_ of Duncan MacLeod." He paused, suddenly uncertain where to begin. _With friendship_ he thought. The cursor blinked accusingly… waiting. "Meeting Duncan MacLeod face-to-face was the pinnacle of my career. I'd watched him for just over twelve years when he walked into my bookstore in Seacouver, one of our lost Chronicles in hand. When that happened, my life was never going to be the same… and I do think I am the better man for it."

He hit pause at a knock on the door. "Yeah… come on in," and then sucked in his breath and grinned at Madeline LeSeur, elegant in that low-cut silk blend shirt and tight, black skirt. She was definitely a vision.

"Sorry, boss, I didn't want to disturb you, but someone's at the door and she wants to see you."

Joe motioned them in; his memoirs could wait. The real ones were his personal diaries and journals anyway… the ones no Watcher was ever supposed to keep. Amy had seen them, but had given them back to him unread once he'd recuperated.

"I'll read them when you're dead," shed whispered and kissed his brow. "Which, God willing, won't be for another fifty years."

Joe had chuckled at the thought of living so long, but medical science kept improving and people were living longer all the time. He just didn't want to be helpless. True he used this mobilized chair most of the day to ease his heart, but he also exercised with an in-house therapist three times a week. He could still walk and get around if he had to. In fact she'd recommended that he begin taking short walks to build up his residual leg muscles again.

He smiled to see the young Watcher he'd met two months ago. "Don't tell me," he said and tried to recall her name. "Gloria."

She smiled. "Gladys… Gladys Morgan."

Joe snapped his finger. "Yeah… I knew it was an old-fashioned 'G' name."

"So back in Paris?" He gestured her to take a seat.

"Evidently for reassignment, but I wanted to stop by and tell you what happened.

Joe waited patiently as she fumbled with the clutch on her purse.

"You lost him?"

"Yes… no… he's not dead. He killed another immortal about two weeks ago… Victor Hansen and then seemed to shake off the _malaise_ of the previous six weeks and settle down to work again. Then one day… he didn't come in. He was regular about coming in once a day. Anyway… I waited and then called it in for a team to check his house. His manuscript was there… finished and ready to be mailed to his publisher. But he was gone… along with his bag, some of his clothes, his papers… his sword."

"Gave you the slip did he?"

"He didn't know about us. I'd stake my life on it. He just up and left."

"Is the book any good?"

Gladys smiled. "It's wonderful. I made certain the manuscript was mailed to his publisher after we copied it."

"He'll turn up. He always does."

Gladys nodded. "I know… it's just… I hated losing him and having to move on."

"Don't we all," Joe whispered. "Don't we all."

-----


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**Moscow, December 2023, the next day:**

Snow drifted through the December morning, dropping in small spurts from the moisture-laden clouds and leaving the streets slick and filled with slush. As traffic passed on the quiet street, the snow-ice mixture filled the morning with sound as the passing vehicles moved it about. Above, the gray sky seemed to be only inches away as the heavy cloud-cover hung over the city.

Duncan stepped from the bathroom, a towel about his neck. He'd cut his hair short and shaved off his beard, leaving only a mustache and then had poured peroxide on his remaining hair, eyebrows and mustache that they took on a pale yellowish color. He then had applied a depilatory to his scraped chin trying to get a good smooth complexion. He paused for a moment, smelling Keane's cooking for breakfast and hearing Keane and Reagan's voices. His stomach growled,

As he entered the dinette area, Keane was sliding freshly cooked eggs and several rashers of bacon onto a platter from his iron skillet. The Englishman glanced up at Duncan and then backed away into the small kitchen. Evidently he still didn't quite trust the Highlander.

"Sleep well?" Reagan asked Duncan.

"Better than you," he replied as he sat down and poured some coffee before loading his plate and stuffing his face.

"You heard me up and pacing then."

"Uh huh," Duncan managed.

By this time Keane had returned, wiping his hands on the towel tied about his waist. He sat down. "So we take you to the train station this morning… right?"

Duncan nodded.

"I still don't like you going off on your own. You could still be recognized," Reagan said with a shake of her head. She set her cup down and slid an egg onto her plate, salting and peppering it before cutting into it and taking a bite.

"Can't be helped," Duncan replied. "By the time I'm done, no one will give me a second glance… I hope."

"So where are you headed?" Keane wanted to know.

Duncan said nothing.

"Secrets. Chasing after someone to take his head," Keane snorted.

"Not exactly," Duncan finally said. He didn't want these two to know anything. He just wanted to get to Hong Kong. If his paperwork were better, he'd try flying, but security at the airports was a lot tougher these days with all the face recognition software in place. No… he'd take the train and hope that in the long cross-county journey to China, he'd slip past the authorities unnoticed. Again and again he inwardly cursed his bad luck in following Kate and Alistair's trail. And then of course he'd turned aside from the trail when he'd finally figured out Darius' clue about Waterloo and had followed that trail again. But at the time, he'd thought he had more time. He wondered if everything had reached Phillip on Niebos and if Amanda had taken the other things from the villa there.

Thinking of Amanda depressed him again. He needed to see her and explain things better. He needed… oh hell he needed her. But as much as he needed her, he had to see this through on his own. Kate would be nearly six months along by this time. One worry that continually plagued him was that a birth might not take nine months. Alisaunne had, if the story was true, developed in mere hours. On the other hand, J.D., Marianna, and Grace's baby seemed to have taken the traditional path. He smiled as he thought of Grace. Surely her child was born by now. That meant three of these new and somehow different pre-immortals in their lives. Was that where they all had come from? Similar pairings that had gone unnoticed through the ages? He shook his head. No, that didn't make sense! They had to have come from somewhere. He just hadn't found the answers to that yet. Maybe the answers lay in Darius' collection. He hoped so… and he hoped that Phillip and Methos could solve the puzzle.

He finished breakfast and grabbed the appropriate attire from his bag before returning to the small bathroom to dress. Once dressed in the business suit, he adjusted the bowtie at his neck and then pulled at the gold wire-rimmed glasses and settled them on his nose. He hunched his shoulders and peered up and into the reflection tentatively. "_Bitte_, I need some help," he minced in a voice much higher than his normal one. He hoped this was enough and that he would recall at all times the demeanor of the shy German clerk he was wearing.

He rejoined the others.

"Not bad," Reagan admitted after a double take. "You might just pull this off." She leaned in closer to him. "Is it true blondes have more fun?"

"You should know," Duncan replied in his own voice with a laugh. "As I recall… you were brunette once."

"And red-haired, and even green I think once."

"I always liked your natural color, "Keane added soberly.

Reagan turned to him. "Ah… but have you ever truly seen my natural color?"

Keane blushed.

"That's what I have to work on," Duncan said with a snap of his fingers. "I have to blush more easily."

"Well I don't think that's something you can change," Reagan said running a hand along his ultra-smooth jaw. "Nice… soft as a baby's behind."

Keane cleared his throat. "I'll warm up the car." Evidently he couldn't wait to be rid of Duncan and honestly… Duncan didn't blame him.

While Keane was outside he packed his duffel bag. "He's a good man," he said to Reagan.

"He is that… most of the time. He just still has this little problem with you."

"He has good reason," Duncan admitted. Steven Keane blamed him for killing two of his mentors… the mortal George Dunbar, his sponsor, and the immortal Sean Burns. It was Burn's death that lay most between the two men… and the one Duncan most regretted. Sean Burns had been his mentor and trusted friend as well.

"Well I hope you two work it out," Reagan replied. "I hate being in the middle of a squabble and as you well know… immortal squabbles can be deadly."

Duncan smiled warmly. "I'll keep that in mind." He shouldered his bag. It looked a bit out of place with his new identity… but it couldn't be helped. Reagan opened the door and he followed her out of the house into the dreary Moscow day… warmer and messier than just a few days ago. "Global warming strikes again," he murmured and chuckled to himself as he climbed into the rear seat of Keane's car. Reagan, he noticed, didn't bring her bag. He smiled to himself, hoping that she and Keane would end up having that lovely little tryst that his presence had interrupted. But he said nothing. That was their business… not his.

An hour later, Keane pulled into the station drop-off area and Duncan bid them both farewell and offered his thanks. He alit from the **_Mercedes_** and shouldered his bag. It was time he moved on again. His quest was still before him.

He bought his tickets and boarded the train, a sleek bullet one at this point, settled into a compartment where he curled up slightly to appear that he was sleeping. His _katana _remained hidden in his bag, now stuffed in the overhead bin, and an unread and rumpled newspaper lay over his chest. He prayed that his disguise would work and that he'd meet no further obstacles on his journey. With any luck, he'd be in Hong Kong in a matter of days.

-----

**Niebos**

"I'm not sure I like this," Sean said as he handed over his weapons for Derrick to lock in the ship's weapons locker.

"It's either leave them here or have Phillip take them from you," Derrick explained again. "He's that good Sean… he can do it."

"What about our knives?" Bryn wanted to know.

Derrick closed the door and twirled the numbers on the lock; he had all of the swords in there now… all but his two, which were hidden elsewhere. "Phillip didn't mention knives. Listen guys, he runs a quiet place here. He's an honorable man… and he doesn't want trouble. Parts of the island are holy ground by the way."

"Yeah… thought we'd go walkabout and see it," Sean said. Dieter chuckled in the background. They had their bikes out and would get supplies in the village. Then they'd spend some time exploring the island. "Don't wait up for us," Sean continued. He waved to leave.

Bryn stepped closer to Derrick and said flirtingly. "You could come with us."

"Thanks but no thanks," Derrick said with a laugh. "I have some other things to do. Maybe next time." He darted a look at Amber who rolled her eyes but said nothing. Her cheeks were slowly turning red though as she must be thinking about her time with the three.

Bryn shrugged her regrets and then her eyes flashed teasingly. "You could even bring her." She pivoted then and descended the gangway to climb on behind Sean. The motorcycles roared to life and the three vanished up the stone dock and into the village.

Amber looked ready to spit knives. Derrick hugged her with one arm. "Let it go Amber. She was just teasing because she knew it would get to you."

"You aren't seriously considering their offer are you?" she asked with alarm.

"Not at the moment," Derrick laughed. Further along the deck, Masahiro was staring off at their departing members, His only comment about giving up his sword had been, "How will I protect you?"

"It shouldn't be necessary here," Derrick had laughed.

As for Wingate, he'd glared momentarily and then handed it over. Burke didn't have one. David and Michelle hadn't cared one way or the other. David had wanted to visit about the village and look at locally built furniture while Michelle wanted to taste some local cuisine. They'd left earlier. Wingate and Burke would swab down the ship and check the hull as well as get supplies.

"We might need her again soon," Wingate had said by way of explanation. Derrick had agreed and felt guilty that as captain and owner, he wasn't doing these things. But he needed to go ashore again… this time without the entire contingent. Amber would go with him… and he'd see if Phillip had a sword that Amber could use. Masahiro would accompany them as well. Derrick understood that the _samurai_ immortal saw himself now as Derrick's retainer and bodyguard. Derrick mourned the loss of his teacher, as the man seemed to take a subservient role with him now. He'd have to think long and hard how to ease that situation.

"Ready?" he asked Amber as the two of them, followed by Masahiro left the _Lady Ambergris_ for the climb toward Phillip's villa.

-----

Methos crouched down beside the items Derrick had moved yesterday in Phillip's study, getting as close to them as he could. Slowly he began to move around them and up and down, trying to see them from every angle imaginable. Something was "right" about the way they were situated, but he couldn't figure it out.

"You look like a pervert peeking through a keyhole down there, " Phillip laughed.

"I need to figure this out before someone moves them again." Methos snorted. "Got any better ideas?"

Phillip beamed. "As a matter of fact… I do." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a filament and viewer. He tossed it to his friend. "Try this."

Methos examined the contraption. "What is it?"

"A camera. You can see what it sees in the monitor attached to the control. Just point it in and around what you want to see with one hand and adjust the magnification and viewing with the other."

Methos grunted, wondering why he hadn't thought of this. "Maybe I was too close to the problem," he snorted.

"And now you'll be closer," Phillip laughed. He rocked back and forth in his chair, more relaxed than he'd been last night.

Methos turned to another grouping of artifacts and used that as a test while he learned to control the camera. Once satisfied he had it figured out, he slowly began to observe the other grouping. He tried every angle he could think of and was about to forget the whole thing and was looking up to tell Phillip that when something flashed across the screen. He paused and backed the filament camera up and stared at the screen. "Well I'll be damned," he said as his jaw dropped. He shut the camera off and sat back thoughtfully.

Phillip leaned forward. "What is it?"

Methos shook his head. I'm not certain this makes sense. Remember my little trip with those Irish monks back in 766?"

"I seem to recall you mentioning it and how awful it was."

"It truly was." He shuddered. "No facilities. I hadn't lived so meanly in thousands of years. The ships of the Mediterranean were far more civilized."

"Except for the galley slaves," Phillip nodded recalling his own experiences.

"This was worse," Methos snorted and then continued. "Two weeks into the journey west from Ireland, fog set in and even the magnetized sliver of iron we were using as a compass seemed to lose its effectiveness. It spun uselessly in the water. We were lost."

"So what happened?" Phillip asked.

"It was days… or at least a night and a day before the fog thinned for a bit and we saw land… an outcropping of mountains or rocks faintly through the fog. Then it closed in again, the iron stopped turning and we continued the journey west."

He was silent for several moments. "That's what I saw here. That grouping of mountains and rocks in just the same pattern."

"You're sure?" Phillip leaned forward, seeming absolutely riveted on the idea.

Methos nodded. "I have a very good memory for recent events."

Phillip raised one eyebrow. "I suppose for you, twelve hundred plus years is recent."

"Matter of perspective. Besides, for centuries that scene haunted my dreams. At the time, I almost leaped from the boat to swim toward it. My fellow monks held me down. Something about mermaids and sea sirens I think. I didn't see any mermaids or sea sirens… but I've always wondered about those rocks. Never found them again though."

"Hmmm," Phillip mused a moment. Then he booted up his computer and keyed in an accessible satellite image site. He tapped on the area between Ireland and Iceland and began to search. Finally he shut it off. "Maybe it was a gateway to something. You've said before that this might all be a map." Phillip gestured to include all the artifacts. "We just don't know how to access it yet."

Methos nodded as he stared at the objects littered about the room. Solving the puzzle seemed suddenly to be far beyond him "It could take another five thousand years," he admitted thoughtfully.

"It could indeed," Phillip snorted. "But at least we have another clue."

-----


	13. Chapter Twleve

**Chapter Twelve**

**Paris, Christmas Day 2023**

If felt more like Paris in the spring than in the depths of winter. Alisaunne toasted her small tree with her wine and glanced at the packages from Niebos. Packages but no word.

She leaned forward and began to unwrap them slowly, treasuring each movement and wishing they were all together. "Next year Paris," she murmured. Usually when they'd been in Virginia in the states, she'd traveled there to spend time with them and with the children. "But Niebos is off limits," she sighed and shivered despite the warmth of the day.

The first gift was conch shell from J.D. With it was a note about spending time at the ocean and that this was one of his treasured finds. Alisaunne smiled as she lifted the shell. It was indeed a beauty and must have been something her curious little brother had hated giving up.

The next was from Marianna. Inside were a handful of seeds and a child's drawing of flowers. Alisaunne laughed aloud, dearly missing the cherubic girl. Then she turned to the next package.

This one was from Methos. She ran her fingers over the shiny paper and then slowly undid the flaps, not really wanting to see what was there. Within the box was an ancient dagger, possibly first century C.E. She gasped and lifted it, brandishing it and noting the sharpness of the blade. The handle had gold embellishments. Alisaunne lifted the small card with the familiar handwriting of her "father".

"_Belonged to Gaius Julius Caesar and carried by his personal physician during the campaigns in Gaul_," it read.

She snickered. "That's your way of telling me you knew Caesar." Still, it was a beautiful and elegant weapon. She put it down and looked at the last package with a sigh. Usually there was one from Duncan and Amanda… but not this year. This one had to be from Eleanor. Picking it up, Alisaunne hefted the weight of it. "Book," she said flatly and opened it.

"**_Le Chanson de Frère Jacques et La Belle Marie_**." She read the title aloud, noting it was an older book, likely about a century old from the style of the engravings. She flipped through it curiously, wondering why Eleanor had sent it. It was a child's book, not something she'd be interested in. A slip of paper dropped out. Alisaunne put the book down and opened the paper.

_My darling,_

_We had hoped to be home by Christmas, but the devastation from the storm here has kept us on Niebos longer than we'd planned. I still hope to be home sometime next month. At that time, I want you to drop what you're doing and come to Virginia! We all miss you and love you very much._

_This book was in Darius' library from the time it was printed until 1941 when he gave it to a little girl I was raising, the Jewish orphan Miriam I have told you about. When Miriam's daughter died a few years ago, her son sent it to my PO Box in Geneva. I doubt he even knew why his mother made the request and I've never been certain just how much she knew. Miriam, of course, knew of my secret._

_At any rate, I wanted you to have it, as you knew Darius._

_Trust me my darling, despite the gilded pictures, the truth lies within._

_All my love, and that of us all,_

_E_

_5 December, 2023_

Alisaunne bit her lip and scooted down in the chair to read the tale, told as if it were a song, of the French holy man and the Gypsy maid who had danced on the steps of Notre Dame. She read it again and then again, seeking to understand the truths of the story buried beneath the lyrics of the song. She studied the gilded pictures and sought meaning in the stylized neo-modern images. Finally she cried.

It was nearly dark by the time she booted up her computer and typed her frantic email. She was so alone… and she didn't want to be. She needed them! Afterwards, she lay in the dark across her bed and cried herself to sleep.

Somewhere in dreams, a tall woman with dark hair and green eyes gathered her into an embrace and crooned a wordless tune to her. In the distance, she thought she heard the beating of drums and in the dim firelight of her dream, the sparks were like the mysterious writing on the cavern walls, flashing brightly and rising to the sky above the flames.

_The truth lies within!_

-----

**Chino-Siberian Border, early Christmas evening 2023:**

Duncan stepped off the train at the border crossing. It had been three days of wary travel. Every time his ticket was checked or a security guard asked to see his papers, he worried. Periodically he went to the bathroom and checked his face. He tended to grow a beard quickly and a dark shadow would ruin the disguise. He either wiped his cheeks and chin with peroxide, or took the time to shave or use the depilatory again.

He slumped in the line and adjusted his glasses as he stepped forward, his bag slung on one shoulder and his papers in the other hand. Finally he reached the Chinese guard who looked the papers over, checked them against a list on his electronic hand-held, scrutinized Duncan's face and then processed him through with a bored and detached air.

Duncan tipped his hat, "_Danke_," he said and entered China with a relieved sigh. He stayed in character as he stepped up to a noodle-counter in the terminal on the Chinese side, ordered something hot and stood at one of the small round tables to eat. A young Chinese woman in a red suit was laughing with her co-host as they introduced a fluff piece on Christmas celebrations around the world.

Duncan saluted them slightly. "Merry Christmas," he murmured quietly under his breath and then watched the news while he finished. He'd hoped to get a better idea of how things were going in other parts of the world, but he had to be satisfied with a report on the attendance at a church in Yangtze Province where a meal had also been served.

A passing Chinese businessman dropped a crisply folded newspaper in the trash bin near him. As he finished the noodles, Duncan stretched and, as he was disposing of the litter, pulled the paper out and tucked it under his arm. It was in Chinese, but if he was careful, he could get by reading it before discarding it.

He picked up his bag and sauntered through the terminal to a ticket counter where he bought a train ticket for Hong Kong. He looked at his watch and figured he'd be in Hong Kong within twenty-four hours. Duncan waited in the queue for his train and boarded once it was time. Again he found a seat and hunched down, pulling his hat over his eyes and looking as if he were trying to nap.

Some thirty minutes after they'd left the station, he felt another immortal. He didn't move, desperately hoping that whoever it was would just keep moving and be unable to find him. No such luck. Someone sat down opposite him and his senses jangled with the other's nearness. Surely the other wouldn't issue a challenge aboard a crowded train. Could he take that chance? Finally he looked up from beneath the hat and didn't know whether to curse or to grab her and kiss her.

"Amanda!" he cried out softly with a smile.

"Merry Christmas. Do you want to unwrap your present now or do you want to wait a bit?" She teased coyly and winked at him.

"How did you find me?"

"Sheer luck. I was just walking along the aisle and there you were."

Duncan smiled warmly and then reverted to German. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

She smiled and settled in for the ride, one foot occasionally rubbing against his leg. Duncan watched her from beneath his hat, smiling all the while and deciding he'd never been happier. Whether or not it was sheer luck or something else, he was glad to see her. It took every restraint he had not to grab her and kiss her. At the same time, he wondered why she was here, and if he found Kate and Alistair, how Amanda fit into the picture.

-----

**Niebos, Christmas night, December 2023:**

Eleanor peered quietly into Denara and Marianna's room. In the pale light reflected from the hall behind her, she could see the two girls… one a child and one so much more than a child, curled up in the big bed and sleeping angelically. In Marianna's arms was the huge stuffed pony that Phillip had given her. Methos had further told her she could start lessons soon; she was finally getting big enough.

Their daughter had been ecstatic at that. Denara's Christmas present was an antique copy of Herodutus' biography of Alexander the Great… in the original Greek, of course. Eleanor could just see it on the bedside table. Poor Denara… trapped in a body too tiny to accomplish much of anything… but with a mind as sharp as most philosophers. Eleanor prayed silently that Marianna would never be like that.

Turning she walked down the hall and knocked on the boys' door. She opened it when she head them cry "Enter!" smirking a bit she let the door fall open and stood leaning against the doorjamb.

"Thirty minutes guys," she said, her eyes sweeping of them. J.D. was deep in an old oceanography book, while Denis was setting up a chess set he'd received. Kenny… ever silent… was on the other bed trying to work his handheld electronic game. Greg had thought it might help him recapture his language skills. He could understand them… but he couldn't process the words or sounds or even letters to communicate. He looked frustrated with the game and for a brief moment… Eleanor thought she saw something of the eight hundred year old man that he truly was flicker to the surface. Then it was gone.

"Aw Mom!" complained J.D.

"Don't 'aw Mom' me, young man. Derrick is taking all of you fishing tomorrow and you know what that means!" She pointed to her watch. "Up and at 'em by five."

Denis beamed at her, his dark face shown with delight. It was rare to see him happy since they'd lost Chou in the _tsunami_. The worst part was knowing that Chou had to be out there somewhere and that they couldn't find him. He could be trapped at the bottom of the sea or he might have been cast up on a beach as far away as Africa. In the meantime, Denis mourned the loss of his friend.

She stepped in to kiss J.D. goodnight, smirking a bit as he wiped her kiss away. He was growing up too fast. But she'd rather he grow up than become as the others were… trapped. "Night boys," Eleanor said again and shut the door.

She returned to the main room on the first floor where Phillip had set up a small Christmas tree for the children. It wasn't like the ones they had in Virginia… evergreen trees on the island did not grow tall, nor were they firs… but it had sufficed. The children had engaged the small ones in decorating it with handmade ornaments and paper chains.

The island's immortal population… including those who had arrived last week with Derrick… was ranged about the room, talking and laughing. Most had glasses of wine while soft music played on the sound system… something classical, possibly featuring Claudia Jardine on the piano. The immortal pianist had been rescued by Phillip twelve years ago and in gratitude, sent him albums. She was likely reaching the end of her career under her own name and would have to lay low for a generation or two before trying again. She hadn't been able to play live for quite some time. Even so, Claudia had indicated that she would still find a way to play, and still record for those who were her friends.

Eleanor poured a glass of wine, one of Phillip's vintages, and settled on the arm of the easy chair Methos was sitting in. She felt his hand on her back. "Children all tucked in?" he asked quietly and with a touch of amusement.

"The girls are asleep. I gave the boys thirty minutes."

Methos looked at his watch. "Guess that means I check on them and play stern parent in an hour."

Eleanor smirked into her wine and then whispered into his ear, "Well we did decide to have them."

He looked at her in mock dismay. "What _were_ we thinking?" She laughed aloud and leaned against him, aware of the heat of his body and the smell of him… so familiar and intoxicating. His hand on her back felt like living flame.

He must have caught the image mentally from her, as he pulled his hand away with a muttered, "Ouch!"

"I like it," she protested. "I'm just really wanting to get you upstairs and have my way with you."

"In that case," he laughed and hugged her with the one arm before returning his hand to rest on her back.

Phillip finished his wine and rose, mumbling something about "low tide," and then excused himself. Eleanor noticed some of Derrick's people watching his leave-taking with curiosity.

"Tide?" Wingate snorted. "What does the tide have to do with anything?"

Cassandra looked up and added. "I didn't think the Mediterranean had tides."

"It's a place of magic," Methos murmured as he sipped his wine. "Phillip was raised here… or at least lived part of his mortal life here. It's part of who he is. He respects the old beliefs as well as the new ones." He gestured toward the small tree. "All are one," he said with a haunted voice. Eleanor caught a glimpse of lights shining in trees and of a tall, man leading a service of worship. She shivered.

Derrick unfolded his long legs from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor with some of the others playing a game of cards. "It's getting late, we should be going."

"You're certain you want to take the boys out on the boat for a fishing trip?" Methos chuckled.

"Well you were the one who said gifts couldn't be bought but had to be treasures or gifts of time. I thought he'd enjoy it. Besides… I wanted the chance to spend some time with him."

"Just watch out for Kenny," Methos replied.

Derrick nodded thoughtfully. "I remember him. He was in Paris when I was a boy." He shook his head. "I can fathom that the rest of you never age… but Kenny? That seems unnatural."

Wingate snorted. "Unnatural? I'd say that. How old is he? In my experience, the child immortals don't last very long." There was something in the way he said those words that made Eleanor's skin crawl.

She held her tongue though. There were those out there who had always made a habit of culling the immortal population by focusing on killing the small ones, women, and the elderly as if subscribing to the belief that they were somehow unworthy of the prize.

"Kenny's always had an ability to survive," Methos laughed. "Rather like a few other people I know." He was thinking of himself, but did not elaborate.

"I need to get to bed as well," Grace said, shifting next to John. "I'm on duty in the morning." She rose, held out a hand to him with a warm smile, which he returned. It looked like their relationship was definitely deepening. Perhaps sharing the raising of a child was strengthening bonds between them that previously they'd been uncertain of.

Greg watched them leave with a sad look. It wasn't that he was jealous; it was just that he wanted something like that in his own life. He rose and poured himself another drink, slugging it down swiftly.

Derrick's group gathered their coats and bid the others goodnight before vanishing into the darkness on their way to the ship. Eleanor closed the door after they'd left and then began to pick up and tidy the room. Katherine began to help and then, when she picked up a stray bit of wrapping paper that escaped the earlier clean up she rubbed her eyes and whimpered.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, looking up a bit embarrassed and wiping her eyes. "I know that Nick has been dead for over sixteen years… but it doesn't feel like that to me. To me… it's only been two months and this is my first Christmas without him."

Greg turned to her… sympathy written across his face. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about… not with us. We know… we understand."

Eleanor nodded. "Greg's right." She reached over to touch Katherine's arm in friendship and gave her a small smile. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's a horrible thing that happened to you… to so many. You go right ahead and cry."

Katherine collapsed into the chair and did so for several minutes while Eleanor held her. Around her, the two men continued to pick up glasses and straighten the room, in a hushed silence.

Finally Katherine sat back. "This is silly. It's not as if I didn't know I'd lose him long before I was ready. It's just that…" She bit her lip and shook her head. "I guess I thought I'd never be ready… that I'd die in a challenge and he would be the one left. Damn! I hate being maudlin."

"Aren't you on tonight at the hospital," Greg suddenly said. "Listen… why don't I take your shift. Hope is down for the night and John or Grace can handle her if she gets up or fussy. Let me do this… please. I feel restless and I won't sleep anyway. You need a break."

Katherine looked as if she were going to object and then nodded. "I guess I have been trying to stay busy. I just didn't want to have time on my hands to think about Nick. Maybe I need to mourn him a bit before I can move on. Thanks Greg."

"My pleasure," he chuckled and then looked at the glass in his hand. He set it down. "Guess I better not drink any more tonight." He shrugged and pressed his hand to Katherine's other arm. "I see you tomorrow." At that he smiled and then left.

From where she sat with Cassandra, Sarah Manning watched him leave with a thoughtful expression. "He seems so lonely," she whispered to Cassandra.

Cassandra said nothing in reply, just motioned for the two of them to retire by standing and reaching for Sarah's hand. Sarah took it with a breath caught in her throat and rose smiling.

"I guess I'll go cry myself to sleep," Katherine sniffed with a smile. "Thank you," she said softly to Eleanor and left.

Eleanor watched her go and then looked at Methos, who was smiling thoughtfully at her.

"What?" she asked with a grin.

"Just you. I used to kid you about being a mother hen to all the young immortals you chanced to meet. Now you have blossomed in that role."

"Katherine's not young… at least not younger than me," Eleanor insisted.

"Sometimes I wonder," Methos replied thoughtfully. "Sometimes I wonder."

Later, upstairs in their room, after Methos had checked on the boys and made certain their lights were out, he stared thoughtfully at Eleanor methodically brushing her long, black hair as he undressed for bed. She had enchanted him as a child, bewitched him as a young woman, and beguiled him as an immortal over the centuries. Each and every time he found her, she was at once imp and Earth mother… healer and deadly opponent… passionate lover and cold-hearted killer. There had always been some magic about her that had kept her hidden from both Watcher eyes and the senses of other immortals. And yet there was nothing truly different or special about her. She was just another immortal. Maybe what was special lay in his eyes and not in her.

She looked up at him with a smile, her eyes glittering.

"You caught that thought did you," he chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

She rose, dropped her robe and approached him. His breath caught in his throat as the shadows of the dimmed lamps flowed over her naked form like reflected firelight. For a moment he thought he was in the memory that he kept buried deep within him. If she caught his thought, she made no sign that she had. Instead she leaned into him, delicately kissing him and letting her hands rest on his shoulders, where her fingers even now drew patterns against the small white scars on his neck. Unity burst into him like an explosion that ended all else. There was only them. There was only now. But now was all time, past and present. And on the vestiges of his awareness, he knew they weren't alone… that others were there watching. Yet he also knew that all were one with them.

Eagerly Methos clasped Eleanor to him and lifted her onto the bed. His tongue and fingers, like hers moved over him, moved over her. He wanted to devour her… he wanted to be her… he wanted to discover the truth of her… and the truth of himself. Slowly the tension between them built until it seemed they lay within the fire, burning and yet unburned by the flames of passion. Eagerly he mounted her, finding she was more than ready for him. She arched under him and moved with him in the unending dance of creation and life. Spent… he covered her and nearly wept from the long years of loneliness when she'd been apart from him. And yet all they had been and all that had happened to them had led to this moment.

"I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"You'd better," she laughed under him.

Methos rose on his elbows and brushed the hair from her face, startled as always by her green eyes that seemed to call to him across the ages. "I take it you would do this without love."

She grinned and arched under him, settling against him so that patterns flowed and he wanted her again. "Well… maybe I would," she laughed. "After all… only you can inflame me this way." _We are one!_ came her thought to him clear as a bell chiming on a cold day.

"We are indeed," he murmured as his mouth covered hers and he eagerly began again.

-----


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Rouen, France, 26 Dec 2023:**

The quickening rose into the night and all that was left of Kevin Darlington rose with it. Less than a century old, the young immortal had kept quietly to himself in the past few months since he'd returned to the world… one of the awakening immortals who'd slept away a dozen years in an induced coma.

He'd had a new reverence for life that made him consider holy orders. He'd been counseled to study and travel a bit before applying. He'd first died near here in a battle during Word War II. It had seemed the place to begin his journey of self-exploration. Unfortunately… it was also where he would die permanently.

He never knew the name of his attacker. The man had come swiftly out of the darkness and had laid into him with a blade almost before he could get his own out. To his chagrin, he discovered that he was a bit rusty… that the long years had robbed him of whatever skill he'd once had. Death was a release, and in that moment, Kevin Darlington of London saw with a crystal clarity that had always escaped him, a truth written in flames upon the wind. He doubted his killer would see it though. At least… not until he, too, was dead.

-----

**Niebos, afternoon 27 Dec 2023:**

Eleanor hadn't gotten around to her email yesterday. The only reason she'd had time today was that she was on duty at the hospital and it was a very slow day. Most of their patients who weren't critical had been sent home over the holidays and generally two nurses, a couple of aides, and one doctor were all that was needed to keep an eye on anything that happened. Today there had been nothing but rounds and a few more checkouts. So far, no med-evac choppers from the nearby islands had arrived, and the ER was slow.

Eleanor knew better than to celebrate her good fortune and instead hoped silently that it would continue… that the mortals around them would be blessed with health, long life, and happiness. And then she took the time to check her email.

There were ten messages, all from Alisaunne and all marked top priority. Eleanor read through them with growing alarm. When she finished, she called Methos at the villa.

"What?" he said. "I'm busy… I've almost got another section positioned!"

Eleanor gulped. "Have Phillip pull up my email account and read them."

"Read what?"

"Just read them," she said and rang off. Better to be obtuse and get him curious than to patiently explain that she feared their eldest daughter had at last gone completely mad.

Ten minutes later, he called back. "I'm sending Katherine over to the hospital. Get your butt back here." His tone was authoritative and menacing. Obviously he was seeing the same things she had.

Eleanor met a breathless Katherine at the door. "What's happening?"

Eleanor smiled thinly. They'd never talked about Alisaunne… she doubted Katherine even knew the girl existed, as they'd never met. "I'll explain later," she called out as she rushed down the path to the villa.

Arriving at the villa, she hurried to Phillip's study and closed the door behind her. "She needs us!"

Derrick and Methos were standing at the desk, leaning on it and gazing at the emails. Phillip was seated.

"This last one doesn't even make sense. It's like she's typing random letters."

Derrick pointed at the screen… if we transpose the letters, in that word, she's calling for Cassandra. Why would she want Cassandra?" he asked curiously.

"Cassandra was helping her deal with her visions… the ones linked to Nestor."

"Who?"

Methos looked at Derrick. "Oh… you wouldn't know about all of that would you? I sometimes forget how very young you are."

"I remember her… both from when I was a boy and later. Something happened to her…" he pursed his brow. "Nestor… why does that name seem familiar."

"Darius helped us contain him," Methos replied.

Phillip nodded. "Perhaps some stray memory of that yet remains."

Derrick looked thoughtful. "No… I don't think so." He looked at Phillip. "He was a Greek general… who helped sack Troy."

"Yes…" Phillip nodded, "among other things." His gaze was solemn and he looked uncomfortable.

"So she's like J.D.? Yours?" Derrick finally said. "But you didn't know her when you met her?" He tilted his head, as if something seemed to flash across his mind. "Darius raised her until his death but never told you about her. He wanted her to see the cavern of the Ancient. I showed it to her." He looked thunderstruck as if only now that memory had come to him.

Eleanor stepped closer to him. "It gives her purpose. It helps her focus. But sometimes it becomes all encompassing. She loses herself."

"And it's my fault," Derrick said with a haunted tone.

"It's no one's fault," Methos insisted. "She's had a lot to overcome… we…" he looked guiltily at Eleanor, "… never seemed to have enough time for her. All too often she was just another immortal."

"No," Derrick insisted. "I knew… I should have known. I should have stayed there. It should have been me."

"Derrick you can't work miracles," Eleanor told him.

"You don't understand," he insisted. "I knew, or he knew what would happen." Derrick ran his hands through his sun-bleached hair. His blues eyes looked haunted in his tanned face. "He spent a thousand years trying to understand it. He gave up everything to understand it. Yet it eluded him. He wanted free of it. His last conscious acts were divesting himself of the need to know and embracing his desire to see the world. He didn't want me caught by it! He knew she would be!" He began to pace. "I didn't understand it then. I only knew that I had to show it to her. But it can haunt your dreams. It can rob you of the taste for food or drink." He looked at her sadly. "It can even make you give up on a life that means more to you than you'd ever thought possible. It's an obsession. We are meant to understand it when the time comes… but it never came for Darius… and he wanted nothing further to do with it."

The others were silent in the face of his outburst. His eyes looked wild as if he'd come face to face with regrets for something he'd done and felt guilty for, for the first time in his young life.

"Derrick, you didn't know…" Eleanor tried to tell him. "You knew things, yes, but you didn't understand them sometimes. We couldn't help because we didn't want to say too much for fear of you dying before your time."

Tears sparkled in Derrick's eyes. "But I see and understand so much now. Even if I've forgotten what he knew and no longer have dreams about things that he did, I still recall some of them. And I recall this. I can help her. I can make it better."

"How?" Methos demanded.

Derrick looked at his mentor and then shook his head. "I'm not certain but I think I have to get her away from Paris. I may be the only one who can. If I stay in the grove, she may feel release to move on."

"It's not that simple, lad," Phillip said. "She's safe in that grove… or as safe as she can be… from Nestor's influence. If she leaves for too long or goes too far…" His eyes met Methos' for confirmation. Then he continued, "She's lost again and susceptible to him."

"Who is this Nestor?" Derrick demanded.

"An ancient evil that refuses to die… even when killed," Phillip told him. "He had other names before I knew him as Nestor. Right now he lives in the small body of Valeraine… a child immortal I swore to protect."

"And he wants Alisaunne," Eleanor added. "He wanted to marry her… unite with her in a bizarre rape. They're linked. Even dead he whispers in her mind. Only the power of the grove, and of the ancients who are buried there, have held him at bay. Evidently… his power is growing again." She darted a glance at Phillip who nodded.

"She was there last night," Phillip confirmed. "There's been no change. We may simply have run out of time, as we did with Nick Wolfe."

"Nestor's appetite is voracious," Methos added. "He swallows whole and corrupts anyone who kills him."

Derrick paled. "Then he can't be killed… even by a mortal?" The others shook their heads. "What about by a machine?"

"He says he will simply be reborn, or find an immortal to inhabit. We don't know his range or his full abilities," Methos explained. "Two thousand years ago, a dozen of us stood against him and failed to destroy him. All we could do was trap him where we thought he could never again exert his power over anyone. Obviously that plan failed." He threw himself into one of the side chairs and sprawled with disgust, his eyes drawn despite everything to the artifacts littered about the floor.

"Still…" Derrick cried. "I can do something. I don't know how, but I give people hope." He turned to Eleanor. "You taught me that… how to see what people need and how to help them."

Eleanor shook her head. "No Derrick. You knew that all by yourself."

He stepped closer to her, his hands on her arms. Then he lifted her chin. "Then know I have to go to her. She's important and I can't allow Nestor to control her. She needs me."

"But I…" Eleanor turned. "You and I need to go to her," she said to Methos. "For too long we've sent others to deal with her. We go on with our lives and she is left alone. She needs us."

"So do the children here," Methos said sternly. "You at least cannot go." He glanced at Derrick. "But I can."

Derrick shook his head. "No. This is better if neither of you are there. She might lash out at one of you. She won't at me."

"How do you know that?" Eleanor asked.

"I just do. I'll fly to Paris… see her and fly back." He turned to Phillip. "I'll need appropriate ID… something that will pass security.

Phillip nodded and then met Methos and Eleanor's hurt gaze. "He could be right. You know she's lashed out at the two of you before. This…" he gestured to the monitor, "would seem to indicate she's headed in that direction again. Let the boy try."

Methos nodded over Eleanor's protestations. "But he shouldn't go alone."

Derrick nodded. "Agreed… but who should I take with me."

"Well," Phillip smiled, "her emails do seem to mention Cassandra."

Derrick paled a bit and swallowed hard. "That might not be a good idea… at least from my standpoint. We uh… she tried to influence and control me." Swiftly Derrick told them how Cassandra had influenced Amber to leave the ship and then when he'd confronted Cassandra about it, she had used her hypnotic voice on him to seduce him to her bed. "I broke free once… but I don't know if I could again."

Eleanor meanwhile, as he'd told the story, had begun to pace angrily. "I'm going to kill her!"

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Methos told her.

"I'm an adult, Eleanor. I'm not a child. And I did get the upper hand. I just think I need to have someone else there."

"What about that _samurai_… Masahiro," Phillip suggested.

Derrick thought about it and then shook his head. "He'd die to protect me… but he also finds Cassandra fascinating. I may need someone who bears her no love." He chuckled and smiled at Eleanor… "Besides my big sister trying to protect me." He gazed at her sadly. "I'll need Amber with me. If she's there… no power on earth could turn me from her side. I have to be clear-headed when I talk to Alisaunne."

"Sounds reasonable. I'll get started on the paperwork. You do realize that Amber and Cassandra are known to the Watchers; especially Cassandra," Phillip mused.

"A chance I'll have to take," Derrick said with a smile. "Maybe they'll just think I'm their current boy toy." He winked as his smile widened into a grin, which showed nearly all of his teeth.

Eleanor sighed. She'd never been able to resist that smile. She had to cling to the thought and to the hope that what Derrick said was true… that he could help her troubled daughter.

-----

**The following morning:**

"This just isn't fair," Sarah Manning pouted. She collapsed into a chair as she watched Cassandra gather a few belongings to put in her bag.

Cassandra didn't pause. "I'll only be gone a few days. Another of my students is in trouble and needs me."

"I need you," Sarah insisted.

Cassandra sighed and then turned. She leaned over Sarah, letting her wild man of brown hair tickle Sarah's shoulder. "I won't be long. Wait for me?"

Sarah's eyes met hers. Suddenly the young woman grasped Cassandra's neck and pulled her closer. She kissed her desperately as if to sway her fried.

Cassandra kissed her back and then pulled away. "I have to go," she said. She softly stroked Sarah's face. "I'll miss you."

"Liar," Sarah replied, tears already streaking down her cheeks.

"A psychic never lies," Cassandra said with a small smile. "I see the future… remember." The trouble was… she saw no clear future. Until she met with Alisaunne, she had no idea how long it would take and what would be needed. Still she smiled encouragingly. Hopefully Sarah would remain fixated on her the few days she was away.

"Now walk with me down to the dock. We're catching the ferry to Athens."

Sarah nodded and whimpered slightly. Perhaps Cassandra had shifted the young woman's thinking too far. But she didn't want to end this. She enjoyed Sarah's attention and luxuriated in her devout worship of Cassandra as lover and as the incarnation of the Goddess. Besides, she didn't want Sarah focused again on her unrequited love for Methos. She clearly saw danger in that direction. She saw someone dead if it happened… and though she wasn't certain who it was… it frightened Cassandra.

She pulled back slowly, still holding lightly to one of Sarah's hands. The young woman stood and followed her closer to the bed… eagerly as if that were their destination. Cassandra shook her head. "I have no more time for this Sarah." She shouldered her bag and smiled. "The dock and the ferry await."

-----

Amber looked hesitantly around their cabin. Some inner warning told her they might never see this cozy hideaway again. A cold shiver went down her back at the thought. But Derrick was right. If he had to go and go with Cassandra to Paris to help someone, then he needed her at his side. She felt the cutlass in her coat that Phillip had given her with a warning to "Watch that boy!" Oh she would… but she would watch Cassandra more closely. She hoped they had everything that they would need.

Turning she joined Derrick on deck where he was talking to the rest of their crew… and by crew she thought of them as their family… their friends… their brothers and sisters. "We should be back in three days, four at the most. Continue getting her seaworthy and ready to sail again."

"Where will we be off to," Dieter asked.

Derrick looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm not certain… just have her ready. Caspar's in charge while I'm gone." He clasped Wingate on the shoulder. "I'm depending on you to make wise decisions and keep the others safe."

Wingate nodded. "Count on it."

"We go soon?" Burke suddenly asked, his red hair wild in the wind. "Ghosts here."

Derrick crouched before the big man. "This land is very old, and people have lived on it a long, long time. They mean you no harm Tyler. They only want you to listen to their stories."

Burke shook his head and then began to hit the side of it. "Not Burke's friends."

Derrick rose and turned to Wingate. "Watch him carefully. If he gets too agitated, let Phillip handle him, or Adam."

"Will do. But he listens to me. Don't you Burke. You know I'm your friend!" Wingate replied.

Burke nodded. "Bestest friend."

Wingate laughed, "And don't you forget it!"

David shook Derrick's hand. "Be careful. Safe journey." He felt strange that he'd followed this young immortal halfway around the world and was the better for it. David smiled at Michelle. They were both the better for it.

"Don't you worry about us," Michelle was saying. "We ran a mission… we can run a ship. We'll be fine." She leaned in to kiss Derrick warmly. "Now hurry back to us."

Already they could hear the ferry's horn sounding at the end of the dock. Derrick could see that Cassandra had already arrived… as had Eleanor. He had to do this for her… he owed her… no matter what it cost him… he had to do it.

He clasped Amber's hand in his as the two of them descended the gangway and traded one ship for another. From Athens they had tickets to Rome and then to Paris. With any luck, they'd be at the sacred grove shortly after nightfall. After all… what could go wrong? A lot if he wasn't very, very careful.

-----


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Paris, evening of Dec 28, 2023:**

It had been years since Derrick had been on a plane, and even longer since he'd been to Paris. Darkness had already fallen by the time their flight circled about the city, and he'd seen the lights of Paris in the distance through the small window. He squeezed Amber's hand as some vestige of memory gasped within him at the sight of familiar landmarks as viewed from a new perspective.

On the aisle seat, Cassandra was leaning back with her eyes closed… the view, evidently, of no concern to her. She'd been silent and monosyllabic through much of their journey. Phillip had balanced their need to get to Paris quickly with the need for secrecy and had them on regular flights by lesser-known airlines. So far, it seemed to have worked. Even with the layover in Rome, no one gave them a second glance.

Derrick found that he eagerly wanted to return to Paris… he just didn't want to stay here and he knew that those feelings stemmed from what he recalled of Darius' memories. The holy man had given up a great deal in his pursuit of the truth and in the hope of bringing peace to the world. Derrick honored his memory… but he didn't want to be him… he had no martyr complex that he knew of. And he didn't think Darius would have wanted him to be the type of immortal the priest and former general had become. Why else were his childhood dreams filled with battles and leading an army if not that Darius wanted Derrick to experience it all? Or should he have been aware of those memories at all?

He didn't know… and he doubted he ever would. But he owed Alisaunne something… perhaps the chance to leave without this Nestor destroying her. Ellie and Methos had never talked about Nestor or about what had happened to Alisaunne when he was a child. And during the search for Methos when he'd been a young man, his main concerns had been keeping Ellie safe. From the first of his memories that he clearly had, she'd been there for him. Now he had to be there for her… and for hers.

"It's so beautiful," Amber murmured as the plane began its descent.

"Paris is called the City of Lights," Derrick replied in a tone not entirely his own. He sighed. Evidently something of Darius remained with him. And if it did… he might yet have to fight for the possession of his own soul. He'd thought the priest immortal gone as he'd had no prophetic dreams and no memories of another life in quite some time. Hadn't he proven by combat that he would fight? That he wasn't the same as Darius?

As if picking up on his mental confusion, Amber squeezed his hand. "Tis all right, ma love. Tis nothing ya need worry about it."

Derrick smiled and felt his heart leap with joy. She had a way about her did Amber Conroy. He wondered if she'd always had it or if it had been something she'd learned from Connor MacLeod. Not that it mattered. If he'd had any doubts about bringing her on this little adventure… which he didn't… her words and support alone would have proved she belonged here… at his side. He leaned over to kiss her, wanting her to know how much her support and understanding meant.

Amber's eyes glittered with tears of happiness. For the first time in her immortal life, she truly felt she belonged with someone… truly loved someone… even if he was an immortal.

The plane jerked slightly as the wheels hit the tarmac, and deep in Derrick's thoughts a single word formed. _Home._

By the time the plane had taxied to the terminal and they'd disembarked, carrying their bags and reclaiming the checked box containing the swords… supposedly being brought to the Paris Armory for an expert to authenticate them, Derrick stared at the swiftly moving traffic in front of the terminal with a bit of confusion and alarm. Now that they were here, he had no idea where to go precisely. His memories of driving in Paris twelve years ago were dim and erratic. He could clearly see in his mind Darius' church… and he knew the name of it; but he was uncertain if he should take a taxi there straightaway… or check into a hotel in the area.

Noticing his pause, Cassandra stepped confidently to the curb, put her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and let loose with a piercing whistle that seemed to cut through everything around them. Then she waved a cab over. They loaded the bags and the small crate into the trunk, and with Cassandra in the front seat to give the driver directions… they set off toward the oldest part of the city.

Derrick's clearer memories… those from his childhood and from his previous time in Paris, recognized sights and sounds as the taxi moved ever further into the city. The lights illuminating the landmarks caught and held his interest. As a boy he'd been amazed by everything. As a young man, his eyes had been on the road and the backdrop of the city had meant nothing. Now he tried to see them through Amber's eyes… and murmur softly to her what Methos, Eleanor, and mostly Phillip had once told him… what history had created these wonders… from the memories of those who'd lived here when these things hadn't existed.

He noted the small white lights strung in trees along the main boulevards and for a moment heard voices raised in song as he saw cloaked figures dancing amidst groves of trees. He shivered. That was "old memory" as Ellie had called it when he'd asked her about her eyes glazing over and her sudden shudder sometimes. Some brief memory that came not from her life… but from someone whose quickening she'd taken… and sometimes from someone who'd died to the one she'd killed. Derrick had a feeling that this wasn't one of Darius' memories resurfacing as much as it was something older and more potent… something that still remained and that was calling to him across the centuries.

"Are ya cold?" Amber asked suddenly.

Derrick smiled. "A bit. The last time I was here was an intense period of my life. I knew about immortals… but not that I was destined to be one. I was worried. Adam was missing and Ellie was bereft without him. I feared for her."

He noticed Cassandra turn to gaze back at him thoughtfully. She said nothing and turned to the driver a moment later and pointed one finger. "Yes… just down this street." The driver never missed a beat. He kept up a running commentary on the sights as he weaved in traffic and took the small side street that Cassandra had indicated.

"You have been to Paris before, _oui_?" he asked as he followed her lead.

"Many times," Cassandra replied. "I have a friend who lives in this area."

The cabbie nodded and started talking about famous people who had lived in the area. Eventually he pulled over on _Rue St. Jacques_ near the church. Derrick handed him the fare along with a nice tip after they climbed out and retrieved their luggage.

"_Merci, monsieur_," the cabby said. "You call for me anytime. I am Henri Avec. You ask for me by name." He tipped his cap to Derrick and then was gone, his cab disappearing once more into traffic.

Derrick turned to Cassandra. "What now?"

"We go to the grove," she said smoothly. She pivoted and sauntered ahead of them. Derrick slung his bag over his shoulder, as he and Amber lifted the small crate of swords by the rope handles and carried it between them. They needed to get this off the streets and secure the weapons on their person before doing too much else.

The street was fairly dark; evidently not on the well-lit paths for after-dark tourists and few if any of the lights from what was evidently apartments on upper levels gave off much light. Their footfalls echoed between the walls of the buildings as the street became narrower and the buildings seemed to close in. Cassandra by this time was a dim shadow ahead of them. But she'd been here more recently than Derrick's short time in this area in 2011. He would trust her knowing where to go before he'd trust his own, rather hazy memories.

Finally she paused and waited for them to catch up. She pointed to a dark opening. "This is it."

Derrick nodded. He could recall the corridor to the iron gate that offered access to the hidden grove. It had lain between what appeared from the street to be two old buildings, whose upper stories had closed in so that it was a tunnel rather than an alleyway. He knew that the buildings, except for the ground floor apartments entered from doors in the corridor, were basically facades only. The facades surrounded the grove and its well on four sides and to a height of four stories. An interior apartment over the corridor was the only additional living space. It was that hidden apartment where he and Ellie had stayed so many years ago… and where… if he recalled correctly… she and Darius had once spent time together. But he'd never had any memories of that. It was just something Ellie had once mentioned.

They passed into the darkness of the arched corridor and soon reached the gate hidden to one side at the back of it. Already he could hear the trickle of water and smell something of the greenery growing there… even in the midst of winter… or what was passing for winter these days. Truly, it felt like spring.

"Alisaunne?" Cassandra called out softly, as if fearful of being overheard. She rattled the gate. It was locked. "Ali?" she called more loudly as she pressed close to the gate. "Ali… it's Cass."

Nothing.

If Ali were there… she wasn't answering the door, as it were. Derrick stood close by the gate and closed his eyes trying to sense her. He could feel Cassandra, and he could feel Amber. Their nearness seemed to be blocking out anyone else. Except, he did feel something… something old and powerful as an undercurrent to this place. He beat his head slightly against the iron bars in frustration. "I can't feel her… but I can't be certain."

He turned and crossed to the false arch, mirror to and across from the gate. He reached high above the arch, feeling with his fingers along the coppice until he found the loose stone. Gingerly he moved it to one side. When he'd been a boy, Eleanor's key had been hidden in the church. The church was currently off-limits now as workmen were in and out of there all day in their attempts to refurbish the twelfth century building. Methos had moved the extra key and told him how to retrieve it.

He pulled it free and fitted it into the lock.

"Why did I not know of this?" Cassandra asked.

Derrick shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know." He figured that explaining that he'd asked about the spare key was the reason he knew would clarify nothing. If Cassandra had spent time here… why she didn't know about the spare key was unknown to him. Speculation was useless. The gate swung open without a sound, a sure sign that it was used regularly and that the hinges were oiled. Derrick stepped back to assist Amber with getting the small crate containing their swords inside. Cassandra brushed past them into the unrelenting darkness.

Once inside, Derrick, pulled the gate shut and relocked it, more by feel than actually seeing anything. Then he pocketed the key. As their eyes adjusted to the dark… the three immortals spread out… listening to the welcome sound of water, feeling a soft breeze redolent with the feel of spring, and trying to sense if another immortal was present.

Overhead, stars winked and Derrick recalled there had been some sort of screen that covered the grove and kept it hidden from overhead. Helicopters could fly right over it and its occupants never see it… even if they knew what to look for, he recalled Ellie telling him when they'd come here.

"It's somethin' special… this place is," Amber said softly and with a touch of awe in her voice. "It's holy ground." She stepped further from him, evidently trying to get a better feel for the place.

Derrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he let the peace of the grove wash over him and through him. He'd felt none of this the last time. To him it had been just a place that Eleanor had chosen for them to use as a base while searching for Methos. She'd almost killed him here. Derrick absently rubbed his arm where her knife had sliced into him. It had gotten infected and he still bore the scar of it. He recalled his almost frantic desire to leave here… of desperately not wanting to feel at home here or to remain one moment more than necessary. Was it here and in the face of this place that he'd grasped at the desire to see the world and to be on his own? Was that desire his or had it been some vestige of Darius' memory still rattling around in his young man's head?

"She's not here," Cassandra pronounced. She'd climbed partway up the narrow stone steps and was now descending. "I can't feel her at all."

"Where else would she be?" Amber asked, her voice a ghostly lilt in the darkness.

"Likely her apartment. I'd tried to insist she spend more time away from here and to find balance in her life between her obsessions here and elsewhere," Cassandra commented as she stopped close to Derrick.

He nodded. "Balance… that's always a good thing. Where does she live?"

Cassandra held out her hand for the key. "I can find it faster on my own. It's not far… I can check for her and be back in minutes."

Derrick fingered the key. "I'll let you out then." He did so and Cassandra eased out, brushing against him as she did so.

She paused a moment… her body touching his… and a small murmur escaped her. "I won't be long," she whispered almost mournfully, squeezed his arm and was gone.

-----

Locking the gate after Cassandra, Derrick stared at her departing shadow midst the darkness of the passageway. There was still an attraction there… and something he would still have to deal with. Had he come only with her… he feared what might have happened. Dropping his hands from the gate, he breathed evenly and stepped away.

"Are ya all right thar, love?" Amber called out.

He stepped closer to her, pulled her into an embrace and kissed her passionately, aware of her response. "I am now," he said huskily and considered laying her gently on the soft moss near the spring and making love to her while Cassandra was gone. He could visualize it so clearly that it seemed as though it had happened. And then he realized it was another stray memory… one of Eleanor kissing Darius in this very spot and pleading with him to make love to her.

Derrick released Amber with a gasp.

"Derrick? What's wrong?"

"This place is wrong. There are things happening here… memories and associations that aren't mine!" He turned from her rubbing his temples and eyes with both hands. There was something powerful here… a presence that seemed to have awakened to regard him with interest. He could almost here the chuckling.

Amber stepped closer, gently touching his brow and shushing him. "Tis all right. I feel nothing. It's just yar imagination."

Derrick closed his eyes and concentrated on her cool touch. She was right. There was no one… no immortal here but the two of them. He clasped one of her hands and kissed it. "I guess I was letting my imagination run wild. It's all this darkness." He un-shouldered his bag and rummaged through it for a flashlight. Once thing living with Ellie most of his life had shown him… always carry a flashlight and extra batteries. He grinned to himself as he lifted it and switched it on. "Let's put a little light on the place," he told Amber.

The pale light of the torch cast long shadows as he aimed it first at the spring, and then at the surrounding stunted trees and brushy undergrowth. Here and there he could make out paths and small clumps of perennials… now in winter slumber. The deciduous trees were bare, but the interspersed evergreens provided a canopy. He paused in his exploration a moment, letting the light illuminate the stones of the far wall, where he knew was hidden an entrance to the sewers of Paris. He held the light there thoughtfully. "I wonder?" Derrick crossed to the hidden entrance and pulled at the stones and then at the iron ring that would open the door. Nothing happened.

"Odd… it locks from the inside here I thought." It was too dark to see how to work the mechanism though. At any rate… it was locked and secure. He turned and shrugged. "I thought she might have been beneath the church."

"The church?" Amber asked.

"Below the catacombs Darius found a cave when they built the place in the twelfth century. He kept it hidden with this place," he gestured about him, "as the entrance to it."

"But this place was holy ground long before Darius was here," Amber insisted, rubbing her arms as if chilled.

Derrick tilted his head and stared at her thoughtfully. "What makes you say that?"

Amber shrugged. "I've felt such places before. Connor once told me I had a feel for them. Like Cassandra has that damned hypnotizing voice, I suppose. I just sense the powerful old places… even if no one alive knows that they are holy. This place feels like something powerful happened here."

Derrick nodded. "I think we're standing on the spot where Darius killed the ancient immortal holy man."

"Couldn't be that," Amber insisted. "This feels older… almost prehistoric. Have ya ever circled the standing stones in Ireland or Scotland?"

Derrick shook his head. He'd seen some in Scotland when they'd lived there, but they'd held no fascination for him.

"It feels like that. I was in Ireland a hundred years ago… right before the troubles happened. It was my first trip to the old country of my parents, and Connor, who needed to get out of New York for a bit, thought it would be a good trip for me. Tis the only real journey I ever made out the States."

"Should I be jealous?" Derrick teased. By this time, he'd flicked off the flashlight and settled beside her on the stones surrounding the spring.

Amber laughed. "While I often wanted it to be more, as I've told you… he held himself aloof from such things. I wonder what he'd say to me if he could see me now… loving and trusting another immortal.

Derrick hugged her with one arm. "He and Duncan seemed to have been very different men."

"He was committed to the game," Amber asserted even as she relaxed against him. He could smell the light floral of the perfumed soap she used. Gently he tipped her face to his and kissed her long and tenderly. Once more he felt an almost overwhelming need to make love to her… here and now. One of his hands slipped inside her coat and beneath her sweater to cup one of her breasts. She moaned as he pinched the nipple in his fingers and in return he felt his own need for her growing. It seemed as if it had been years since he'd last held her. He pulled back slightly trying to clear his thoughts. She turned in his embrace and then pushed him onto his back and straddled him kissing him urgently while her hands fumbled with his belt. "Love me…" she whispered. "Love me now."

Amber then lifted her arms to shrug off her coat and sweater. Derrick undid her pants and eased them down her hips, and then he flipped her over to the ground and lowered himself onto her, kissing and fondling her with a desperation that consumed him. Again visions of other times flitted across him. He knew these weren't his memories. With a groan of exasperation he rolled onto his back and let out as strangled growl. He pressed his hands into his eyes as he tried to empty his mind of any thoughts except his. Was this what Alisaunne was experiencing? Was this what she was living with?

"Who's there?" a voice called out of the darkness.

Turning towards the areas where he knew the locked door to the sewers was, Derrick rose up slightly. He could barely make out a pale face in the darkness. "Alisaunne?" he called out.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" He could hear her voice tremble with uncertainty.

"I'm Derrick. Do you remember me?" He pulled his jeans up and rose, closing the zipper and fastening the belt as he did so. "I was with Eleanor years ago when you found her."

"Derrick?" Alisaunne sounder thoughtful; then she seemed to recall his name. "Derrick! Yes! The little boy who lived with her." She stepped closer. "Not a boy anymore… but a man… an immortal."

Derrick ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah… big surprise."

Alisaunne smiled thinly and then moved to embrace him. "I guess I've always thought of you as a little brother. Strange you look even older than Eleanor or Adam now. At least we didn't lose you. Duncan once told me that telling those who carry the potential of immortality might mean it never happens for them… and you knew so much." She laid her head on his chest and sighed contentedly. He hugged her firmly, relieved that she seemed better and more clear-headed than he'd feared from her emails.

By this time, Amber had righted her clothes and also stood up.

Alisaunne only then seemed to notice her. "Who are you?"

Derrick laughed. "This is Amber… my friend and teacher."

"We thought we were alone," Amber said hesitantly.

"It's this place," Alisaunne shrugged. "It works on all of us sometimes. You should see some of the immortals I've tried to seduce when we were alone here. Not pretty… not pretty at all. I don't even bring anyone here anymore. Part of it is I'm so lonely that I want a connection with others and part is some memory or residual force that insists I couple with others." She shrugged. "If Ian had lived… I'd have been perfectly happy here with him… but he didn't… and I drive everyone else away."

"Ian?" Amber asked.

"My lover… my true love… the other half of me," Alisaunne said and then stared into Derrick's face. "So what brought you here?"

"We were on Niebos when your emails arrived," Derrick said almost hesitantly; "… the ones to Eleanor?"

Alisaunne stepped back and balled her fists as she paced back and forth. Derrick sensed a dark turn in her as he'd once sensed in mortals and immortals, who were a danger to him or to Ellie. "They sent you. Rather than come themselves… they sent you. Once more I remain the bastard stepchild they never wanted. Once more their lives and desires take priority over mine. Once more I'm foisted off on others."

"Ellie can't come… she's needed on Niebos. Adam wouldn't let her. He wanted to come… I told him it would be better if I came." It wasn't exactly the truth… at least not all of it. He'd seen the obsession in the past week or so in Methos' eyes as he'd worked on the artifacts. They meant nothing to Derrick… or to Darius' memories evidently… but they were a puzzle that Methos was focused on solving. Alisaunne was right. Both of her parents had other more pressing concerns than her. But that wasn't what she needed to hear right now. "I came because… well… we have Darius in common."

Alisaunne paused and looked at him thoughtfully and then laughed. "He died before you were born. How could we have him in common?"

Derrick tapped a finger on his temple. "I used to have some of his memories. I knew that he wanted you to know about the cavern. I didn't know why… but I did know… just as I knew he wanted me to take another path."

Alisaunne stepped closer to him… her face still a pale vision in the darkness. Her eyes were two dark shadows. "Yes… you sounded a little like him that day. I always wondered why. Mortals killed him on holy ground… not far from here. All he was… was lost. At least that's what Duncan used to tell me. But it wasn't lost… was it?"

Derrick shrugged. "Evidently not." He reached out a hand. "Let me help you Alisaunne. Let me help you find your way."

Alisaunne shook her head and backed off. "No one can help me."

He stepped closer to her and brushed her dark curls from her face. "Let me try."

A twisted expression crossed her face. "Don't touch her! The bitch is mine!" she suddenly snarled with a grimace. Then it was gone and she seemed embarrassed that had happened. She turned away, sobbing. "You don't understand."

"About Nestor?" he replied and when she looked at him in confusion, he continued. "Maybe not… but I do understand about voices within and memories that aren't mine. I've lived with them most of my life. Besides… I brought Cassandra with me. You were asking for her I think."

"Cassandra?" Alisaunne looked confused. "Wait… I sent my… I sent Eleanor an email wishing we were together at Christmas. I didn't mention Cassandra."

"You sent nearly a dozen emails… each one more confusing and alarming," Derrick explained.

If it was possible in the dim light, he thought she'd paled even more. "A dozen?" she pressed her hands to her cheeks and turned away. "Gods but it's happening again. I'm saying and doing things without knowing it." She turned back. "You two have to leave. I'm not safe to be around."

Amber stepped closer. "We're not leavin' just yet. Besides… Cassandra will be back shortly."

"Where did she go?"

"To your apartment," Derrick explained. "We didn't feel you here and she thought you might be there."

"Normally I would be," Alisaunne was pacing again and knotting her hair into her hands. "It's just that something almost made sense late today… and time got away from me." She stopped and stared at both of them, but her next words were directed to Derrick. "How much does she know?" she asked him and indicated Amber.

"Practically nothing," he said. "But I trust her."

There was a rattle at the gate and Cassandra's voice could be heard softly calling Derrick's name.

Alisaunne back away from them, and moved toward the gate. Derrick let her go, even as Amber moved to his side.

"She's a strange one… reminds me a bit of Burke. She's crazy you know."

Derrick sighed. "I know." He placed an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close with a squeeze. The need to possess her… to make love to her had vanished for the moment. He wondered whom and what was the core reason for that… and why he kept thinking he saw two red eyes shining in the darkness… that vanished whenever he turned to stare at them.

-----


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

**28 December, Hong Kong:**

Even after crossing into China, there was still a long train ride to reach the coast and then cross over into Hong Kong. Duncan nodded occasionally, and pretended to just barely acknowledge Amanda's presence in the facing seat. For her part… she opened a book to read and when she shifted position occasionally, there was momentary contact between her foot and his leg. Each time… Duncan smiled to himself and let his thoughts range over their various times together. Amanda always made him smile… even at the worst of times. Perhaps that was why he'd always turned to her or let her back into his life when they met up.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to know what the hell she was doing here! But as that series of events and questions could likely get them thrown off the train… he waited impatiently for their journey to end.

Finally they pulled into the train station in Hong Kong and disembarked. Amanda walked briskly ahead of him as if she were entirely on her own. Duncan walked stooped shouldered like some overworked executive and tried to follow her without making it look like he was following her. When she hailed a cab outside the station, she remarked loudly the name of her hotel, climbed in alone and was gone.

Duncan sighed. He flagged the next taxi and asked for the same hotel. He kept his hat pulled low across his face and tried to avoid the cameras. He didn't need Interpol noticing him and deciding to follow-up again. He alit from the taxi, paid the driver and stepped into the lobby of the upscale hotel. He moved toward the desk in the lobby and stood waiting in line.

Amanda was just finishing up. Again she mentioned her room number aloud while talking to the desk clerk in flawless Mandarin and then breezed past Duncan, leaving a copy of her key card in his hand. Duncan palmed it with a momentary smile. After she was gone, he asked the clerk about a guest… Russell Nash… and was told there was no guest by that name. He thanked the clerk and went into the small bar to the left of the lobby, where he ordered a drink and sat quietly until the lobby was busy and the clerk distracted. Then he paid for his drink, shouldered his bag and walked briskly to the elevator. He was on his way.

Luckily, the elevator was unoccupied. He whistled slightly as it reached the fourteenth floor and then stepped out into the lushly decorated corridor. Duncan sauntered easily down the corridor until he found the room she'd mentioned. Using the keycard, he inserted it into the lock and opened the door to Amanda's room. The television was blaring and Amanda was in the small bathroom, washing her face. She flashed him a smile. "What took you so long?"

"I didn't want to seem too eager," he said as he tossed the duffel on the king-sized bed. He grunted his approval of the accommodations and then sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her.

"I didn't think that train ride would ever end," she was saying from the bathroom. "I couldn't wait to change clothes and wash up." She flicked off the lights in the bathroom and joined him with a coy smile. While her skirt was still on, she'd removed the white sheer blouse and wore only her black bra.

"I'm just glad you're here," Duncan said, pulling her to him and kissing her firmly. He was already sliding his hands over her flawless skin when he realized that Amanda wasn't kissing him back. She wasn't resisting… she just wasn't responding. He pulled back and she flashed him a sad smiled while she licked her lips.

"That was nice and something I've truly missed these past few months."

"But?" he asked her.

She laughed and sat beside him, patting his leg. "There's always a but."

"Not usually where you're concerned. I'm the one normally pulling away."

Smiling at him she sighed. "I'm not pulling away Duncan. I love you. I adore you. I've missed you… but we really need to talk before we just jump into bed without clearing what lies between us."

He cocked his head slightly and nodded. "It's about Kate and the baby."

"It's about you and me and what we both want out of this relationship," she insisted and then she shrugged. "And it's about Kate and the baby. Has her pregnancy been confirmed then?"

Duncan nodded and told her what he'd learned in Moscow last week and the clue that had led him to China. "How did you know to come here?"

Amanda shrugged. "I was in Hong Kong when I first met Alistair. Joe didn't have Hong Kong in the Watcher files he checked… but I felt the estate here might be something he'd return to. Alistair was always a collector rather than someone who cared about the places he owned… but the mortal wife he had here in Hong Kong two hundred years ago was someone he cared about. I saw the look on his face when she was killed. Her death cut him deeply and may have contributed to his devil-may-care attitude since."

"I didn't know he'd ever cared about anyone," Duncan said with a derisive snort.

"And you didn't ask. You leaped to the assumption that because Kate cared for him and took off with him, cutting you out of the equation… that he'd betray her."

Duncan shot her a dark glance and opened his mouth to deny her words. But they were true. He'd had very little respect for Alistair Craille and had thought Kate might be making a major mistake. The child was theirs… not his… not really. But he still felt responsible. He still wanted to be certain that Kate was all right. He still wanted to be a part of this child's life.

"And therein lies our problem," Amanda said gently as if reading his mind.

"You've added mind reading to your many talents?" he laughed, thinking that Methos and Eleanor had reported that this was a side effect of the bonding. Hell he'd seen it himself how it could be both blessing and horror in the early days after Robert and Gina De Valicourt had bonded. Indeed, it was the problems that came up when Amanda discovered what they'd done that had pulled him away from Kate and Alistair instead of staying to explain everything to them.

Amanda laughed. "No… but I know you like a cherished open book. Your thoughts and emotions play across your face and I know how deep that Boy Scout honor goes and how much you want to make things right for all of us… especially the ones of us you love. And I know what that child means to you. He's not yours Duncan… and yet he feels like yours. Phillip told me the same thing when Marianna was born. There is an emotional if not biological attachment to these children. Maybe it's more than that. We know so very little about how and why this works." She clasped one of his hands tenderly.

"I know that Grace having a child affected you deeply. I know that you wanted one with me. I know I disappointed you in being unready. But Duncan, this all still so new to all of us, I'd rather be certain before doing this. I didn't say absolutely not… I said not now. I don't want to do this and then discover I'm the world's worst parent. I'm a very selfish person at heart Duncan."

He smiled and chuckled in agreement.

"I'm not about to play jealous lover. I told you to go after them. I understood you had made a commitment that would last years… if not for the rest of your immortal life. Then… I walked away. You needed to be focused on them and not me or my feelings. At least not now."

Duncan nodded. "But I missed you. I missed waking up with you beside me and I missed your excesses and your coy attitude about life… and I missed making love to you."

"Then what we had is worth salvaging," she said as she stroked the side of his face. "I'm so accustomed to your take-charge attitude that I've always let you be the leader and set the rules and boundaries of our relationship. When we were both free and both of a mood… we could be good together… but we also always knew it wasn't permanent… at least until recently. Eleanor once told us that there would be good times together and long separations until we reached a point where we'd both know what we wanted. I don't think we're to that point yet. After watching Robert and Gina nearly kill one another… I'm even more certain of it," Amanda laughed. "I love you. I do. But I don't want to rush into something neither of us is ready for. It could be deadly. Even John and Grace seem to understand that… and they are far more likely to bond successfully than anyone else I know."

"Agreed," Duncan admitted and smiled at her.

"Anyway… I wanted to clear the air and then offer to help you find them. I know Alistair better than you and I've had dealings with him several times over the centuries. Let me help."

Duncan glanced back at the bed, his grin widening. "And by help you mean?" His voice drifted off.

Amanda huffed, "Oh screw it!" She leaned in and began hungrily kissing him. Evidently she'd been mature and non-selfish long enough. Duncan returned the kiss, already pulling at the zipper of her skirts even as she slid her hands under his shirt and began to pull at the zipper of his trousers. It took only moments for them to be entwined naked in one another's embrace and moving fervently against one another, their fingers drawing the age-old patterns they'd learned from Methos and Eleanor… tracing them as if they were living flame on one another's skin and feeling the slight quickening erupting between them as a part of how they felt about each other.

Their lovemaking was intense and totally encompassed them so that the concerns of the world outside that room faded in their minds until only each other mattered. By the time Duncan climaxed and Amanda screamed in exquisite release… it was dark. They lay there holding onto one another as if fearful that it was an illusion. But it was no illusion; and the night was still young. Duncan cupped Amanda's chin and began again, longingly kissing her and luxuriating in her presence.

-----

Light was slowly dawning when Amanda stretched contentedly… rather like a cat. She opened one eye to observe Duncan leaning on one elbow as he lay beside her with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Penny for your thoughts," she cooed

"Just enjoying the way the light moves over you," he said and tapped the end of her nose. He lifted one of her manicured hands and kissed the long red nails. "Anyone ever tell you those things are dangerous.

"Ooh,' she grinned and shifted closer to him. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"I don't know about a nerve… but skin, muscle…" he winked.

"Let me guess… I raked you pretty good?"

Duncan nodded at some bloody smears on the bed linens. "To say the least." It was strange, but where she'd scratched him, while it had healed completely, still burned on his back. Ignoring the unfinished nature of the scratches, he rolled onto his other side and reached for the phone. "Room service?"

"Better let me," she laughed and kissed him as she took it. "My Mandarin's better."

"Just no three hundred year old eggs," he begged as he headed to the shower. Maybe hot water would assuage his unease. He felt as if poised on the edge of a precipice… and that he had already taken one step into a deep and unfathomable chasm. Trying He shook his head to ignore them.

"But they're a delicacy," she pouted. "Oh very well."

After breakfast she told him about the house Alistair had owned. "It was in one of the better areas of the city… so it is likely still there. It had lovely grounds surrounding it… fish ponds… gardens… cherry trees…"

"Sounds delightful," Duncan snorted, "but you didn't see the house near Geneva or the one in Moscow. They'd been nice as well… now they're dumps. Well… the one near Geneva was a dump… it's a burnt cinder now."

"True," she admitted adjusting an earring. "But I think I can find it again… and we can check."

"So do I follow you out or do we go together?"

She turned to touch his smoothly shaved chin and stared into his brown eyes and then at his bleached hair. "Separately I think… at least when we leave here. I haven't seen a Watcher on me, but you never know."

"Point taken," Duncan said as he donned his coat, hid his sword in the lining and placed the hat on his head. He pulled the brim low over his face and slumped, getting into character. He leaned over and kissed her. "I'll go first and meet you on the street."

"Grab a taxi if you can," she called breezily after him as he left. When he was gone, Amanda pulled a small journal from her bag and thumbed through it. Stopping at a page, she scanned it over, running a finger along the lines of cryptic script. Satisfied, she shut the book and hid it again in the lining of her bag. "Let's just hope it's still there," she mused, recalling the house she'd cased for a robbery that long ago day. Her notes had been about the layout of the house and where the valuables were kept. The robbery had never happened of course… not when she'd discovered that an immortal lived there. And she doubted that the items she'd been searching for were still there… but it wouldn't hurt to check. She could still see Alistair standing there in semi-darkness and the moonlight glinting off of his raised sword. Amanda shuddered and then squared her shoulders as she grabbed her thin gloves and headed out the door. Duncan didn't need to know about that little episode. He had enough to worry about.

-----

The low bungalow situated halfway up one of the hills was still there… if one could call it a bungalow. It wasn't massive, as some of the other properties had been, but was a good sized house that seemed to wed the best of Eastern and Western in its trim style and wraparound porch. It faced northeast and took advantage of the prevailing winds that moved from the west by means of large windows and high ceilings on its single-level plan. Where screens might once have shut out wind and weather, glass panes shone and let in light. It had been built in the seventeenth century by a British East Indies trader whose fortune was made using Hong Kong's deep and safe harbor to develop trade between China and the West. It had passed through many hands as the centuries had passed. The wide gardens that had once surrounded it were greatly reduced, and more modern structures towered over the house. Land on the island was at a premium and had been for years. To have any private green-space at all, to maintain a modest single-family dwelling in the face of condominiums and office towers, showed wealth… and power.

Standing by the ornamental gate that allowed access to the property, Duncan sighed and shook his head. "I don't feel another immortal."

Amanda leaned forward and punched the buzzer. "We can't be certain of anything unless we explore further."

When the voice over the intercom answered, Amanda launched into Mandarin. A few moments later, the gate was automatically unlocked with a detectable click, and she swung it open with a grin. "Coming?"

"What did you tell him?"

"That we were historians and antique dealers interested in the house."

He eyed her suspiciously. "And that worked?"

She winked. "The gate's open isn't it? Now come on." She eased through the gate and walked briskly and with purpose up the gravel path toward the house. Duncan followed with a laugh, and fully appreciated the way her hips moved back and forth as she walked. She was a trial and a handful and he didn't always trust her motives… but she was always a joy to behold. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and decided to pretty much let her lead the discussion.

They climbed the wide wooden steps to the covered porch, noticing the wicker furniture and the old-world charm of it. The porch floor was covered with grass mats with painted Oriental art and bamboo shades were partially deployed to keep the outdoor room cool and dark and yet still allow the breeze, which from up here was noticeable. Duncan shivered slightly in his overcoat. Late December was no time for outdoor living in most of the world… even with the recent heat wave, but Duncan could see telltale signs that the porch was in current use. On one of the tables was a partially filled glass of something that looked like watered down whiskey… the ashtray was filled with cigarette butts, and the remnants of a day-old newspaper littered the area. Someone lived here… but who?

His eyes widened as he felt an immortal presence within the house and he met Amanda's gaze with a nod. It was distant still… perhaps in the back of the house. The door opened a crack and a small Chinese man peered out at them.

While Amanda did the talking, Duncan continued to look around and try to get a better feel for the unknown immortal and for his location. The man at the door nodded politely and then glanced over his shoulder. From within, Duncan heard a male voice. The door opened more widely and they were ushered in.

Within the cool darkness of the house with its white-plastered walls, dark wood trim, and Oriental inspired furniture, the immortal couple was ushered into a sitting room. Duncan noted the books lining the walls and then saw the man, standing with his back to them, his hands clasped behind him. Slowly he turned and gestured his servant to leave them.

"Kiem Sun," Duncan said flatly.

Sun nodded his head and stepped toward them. "Not that I'm adverse to seeing you again MacLeod, but for what reason do you seek me out?"

"I was looking for someone else. Amanda said he lived here once."

Kiem Sun smiled broadly and with appreciation at Amanda. "So this is the Amazing Amanda of whom I have heard so much over the centuries." He took her hand, bowed slightly and kissed it. "Charmed. A former pupil of mine told me you studied with him for a time."

"Oh… and does he have a name?" she replied.

"He did. Andre Korda. I believe you took his miserable head some years ago. I hold no grudge. He always had his own way of doing things. I did not mourn his passing."

"Ooh… charm and Old World manners. I can never get enough of it," she laughed. "See Duncan… not all immortals are bloodthirsty monsters."

Duncan gave her a withering look while Kiem Sun laughed.

"Returned to your old stomping grounds did you?" Duncan muttered and looked around. "Is this holy Ground?"

"No my old friend. I no longer fear death as I once did. If you came here to challenge me… we can fight. But I don't think you do. It's not your style to challenge those of us who do not break your moral code. I no longer seek the secrets of the _kwanlo_ root. I have seen the dusk of our people's dawn… and my heart is at rest."

A small snort of disbelief emanated from Duncan's throat. "I'll believe that when I see proof."

Kiem Sun's smiled widened and he spread his hands before him. "At any rate, you are most welcome in my home, Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan's expression darkened. "Your home?"

Sudden understanding dawned on Kiem Sun. "Ah… you did not expect me here. You were looking for someone else."

"He's just being difficult, Mr. Sun… or should I call you Kiem?" Amanda said smoothly moving to the Oriental's side and taking his arm smoothly. "We came to see the house."

Sun looked at her with a glee of merriment. "And what makes my home so interesting?"

"Who did you buy it from Kiem?" Duncan insisted.

Kiem smiled and gestured them to take a seat. He sat in an easy chair and crossed his legs, displaying his crisply pleated linen slacks. "I have not had visitors in a while… I find I miss the company of my own kind. Strange for one who remained aloof and withdrawn from all contact with our kind for so long… but there it is."

Duncan declined the seat and paced near a bookcase, taking in the titles in a single glance. Most of them were histories… some fairly speculative, while others he knew to be quite respected. Amanda, on the other hand, sat on the edge of a small settee and crossed her legs, letting the top one kick up and down easily. "I was here once," she was telling him. "Well really about three times… a few centuries ago. An old friend, Alistair Craille owned it then. I thought he still did."

Sun laughed. "Now why do I not believe that? Oh right… you're a thief. But what would you want here?" He looked about the room with a bemused expression. "I redid the house and restored it when I bought it from him a few years ago. He was in a tight spot financially and wanted some ready cash. I on the other hand wanted a quiet, but sumptuous house. Off the beaten track… in Hong Kong. It was a precipitous meeting of supply and demand. Oh he didn't really want to sell this one… tried to get me to buy something in London as I recall. I held out for Hong Kong. We made the deal… he vanished. I think he likes to live fast and loose. All show and no substance."

"That's Alistair," Amanda said with a grin and ignoring the low growl from Duncan. "He's quite the gambler."

Sun nodded knowingly and then met Duncan's gaze. "Again… I would know why you are here."

Sun's servant arrived with a tea tray and set it on a low table. He shot inquisitive glances at all of them and then backed out. Duncan wondered if he were a Watcher. He'd kept his hat and coat on, and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Too bad Amanda wasn't… but then that might be wise. If they were Watching her… they might not be Watching him. He managed a small, grim smile at that thought and wondered when he'd become so cold and calculating.

_Since getting in over my head!_ he thought. He cleared his throat when the servant had left. "So… when was the last time you saw Alistair Craille?"

"Two months ago actually. He stopped by one evening… seemed to have forgotten he'd sold me the place. He was desperate to have it back… but he had no funds. I was in no mood to sell. He left without saying anything."

"Was there a woman with him," Duncan pressed. "One of us?"

Sun looked at him thoughtfully. "Not that I was aware of." He glanced at Amanda and smiled again. "You always did have luck with the ladies. Did one get away from you? Why pursue her if you have this one. This one is worth a king's ransom."

Amanda blushed and drew in a deep but clearly embarrassed breath. "I think I like your friend, Duncan." She laughed lightly and then turned back to Kiem Sun. Something was going on between them. He could sense that they both knew or thought they knew something that the other didn't… but what?

Kiem Sun chuckled, and then steepled his fingers. He was clearly enjoying Amanda's attention and was clearly willing to play the game. Duncan wasn't certain which of them to be angry at. He clasped his hands behind him, deeply wanting to clasp the hilt of his _katana_ instead. What was it about Amanda that made him want to kill half the time and ravish her the other half of the time. She was a trial and yet, as recent months had shown, he missed her when she wasn't with him. He growled slightly at the two continued to flirt as drinks were served. Amanda had a reason to be here… besides helping him. But what reason… obviously something she'd seen here and wanted to steal.

Kiem Sun laughed at some little joke she made and Duncan slung back a drink. He felt on the outside of some joke and he didn't like the feeling. But Sun knew something about Craille and perhaps about Kate. He was certain of that now. He'd play along instead of leaving… after all… he didn't know where to go next.

-----


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

**28 December, Niebos**

Michelle hummed as she carried blankets to the deck. While Derrick and Amber were gone and the trio of bikers were on 'walkabout' around the island… she figured she'd give the **_Lady Ambergris_** as thorough an interior cleaning as Caspar was supervising an exterior one. As she shook the blankets and arranged them along the deck for a good airing, she noticed the two small girls on the dock… holding hands and watching her. Michelle could feel the immortal one… but she wasn't certain which one it was.

"Good morning!" she called out. She couldn't recall their names… they'd mainly been present only momentarily when Michelle or the others had come up to the villa. She knew that several of the children were immortal, but they usually scrambled about in a youthful confusion that denied their actual age, and then hurried out of the house to play. Michelle found it strange that the two young girls were here.

The girls, dressed almost alike in new jeans and matching blue sweaters waved opposite hands at her. Michelle waved back with a wide grin. She motioned them to come aboard and met them at the head of the gangway.

"Welcome aboard," she said. "I'm Michelle." She hid a momentary sadness. She'd lived decades as a thoughtless teen, trapped forever in a body just on the brink of adulthood, that she now had an affinity for the ones trapped in the bodies of children.

"Mari wants to see the ship," the smaller of the two girls said. While there was a slight childish lisp in her words, she gazed at Michelle with a wisdom that denied her age. "She's never seen a ship before."

Michelle smiled knowingly. The speaker had to be the immortal… although the girls were so inseparable that even this close it was hard to be certain.

"Is it fun to live on a boat?" the slightly taller girl asked with wide-eyed innocence.

"It's a bit crowded," laughed Michelle, "But we've traveled halfway around the world and seen so much." The girls regarded her with identical expressions of interest. Michelle hesitated and then gestured about the ship. "Come on… I'll give you a tour." Well… she hadn't really been enthused about cleaning.

During the next hour, Michelle showed them the pilothouse and laughed as "Mari" stood behind the wheel and pretended to steer a course while Denara stood watching proudly. Then Michelle had taken them below to see how small her and David's cabin was and then into the galley, where the girls sat at the table while Michelle found cookies and milk for them.

"I made these fresh this morning," she told them as she sat across from the girls.

"I bake too," Denara said. "At least I do when I can."

Marianna giggled. "Momma doesn't bake anymore."

"Why's that?" Michelle asked.

Mari giggled. "Daddy told her, her cookies were hopeless."

"I'm sure they weren't that bad."

"Momma's were," the little girl insisted, sticking her tongue out and grimacing.

Denara nodded and replied. "Eleanor is truly at a loss in the kitchen. She means well… but her strengths don't lie there."

Michelle nodded thoughtfully while taking a drink of her milk… wondering where Eleanor's strengths lay… besides in being the focus for Derrick's journey here. Hearing raised voices on deck, she looked up worry. "I better see what's happening. You two girls stay here until I come for you." She rose, climbing the passageway two steps at a time.

Marianna watched her go and then scooted out of her seat.

"She said to wait here," Denara reminded her.

"I hear something," Marianna insisted. "I just want to see who it is."

Denara sighed. There were times she truly enjoyed being with Marianna… and there were times when "babysitting" a five-year-old were truly a handful. In the past few months, Marianna had experienced a slight growth spurt and was slightly taller than the diminutive Denara. It wasn't much… but it reminded Denara that her friend would be leaving her behind soon. She sighed and climbed down to follow Marianna.

She found her opening the door of a cabin that Michelle had said belonged to Derrick. Denara didn't know what to make of Derrick… he felt old and new at the same time… and the few times he'd spoken to her since arrival had confused her. She felt she should know him… but she didn't recall ever meeting him before. Besides, Eleanor and Adam had said he was new. Still… he was a puzzle. Even he acted as if he knew her.

"Mari… don't!" she ordered as the younger girl grasped the knob and opened the cabin door. Denara felt an eerie silence in the cabin… almost like the kind of silence she felt when on some holy grounds. It pressed in on her and nearly took her breath away. She glanced about the dimly lit cabin, neat as a pin and yet looking like its occupant had only just stepped out.

"Can you hear it?" Marianna was saying. "It's calling my name."

Denara shook her head and pulled at Marianna's arm. "We should go."

"In a minute," Marianna insisted, as she pulled loose. She dropped to her knees and it seemed to Denara that Marianna tilted her head exactly as if she were hearing something and trying to make sense of what she heard. She pulled vainly at the under bunk drawer and then looked back at Denara. "It's too heavy. Help me."

Despite her misgivings, Denara knelt beside her friend and pulled at the drawer along with her. With their combined effort, it opened slightly with a muffled _thump_. Excited, Marianna slipped her small hand into the opening and felt around for a moment, finally withdrawing a faded and threadbare velvet bag.

"Better put that back," Denara whispered.

"In a minute," Marianna insisted and cradled the bag on her lap while her fingers fumbled at the knot in the drawstring. Finally she pulled it loose and opened the bag, peeling the velvet down around its contents… a milky white orb of some sort of quartz. She lifted it thoughtfully while Denara looked on with interest.

The crystal glowed in Marianna's chubby hands. "Ooh… pretty," she said. The expression on her face was filled with wonder and joy.

Denara looked about fearfully. "Maybe you should put that back," the small one lisped. "It's not yours."

Marianna met her friend's eyes. "It's okay. She wants me to hold it."

"_She?_" asked Denara curiously. The crystal belonged to Derrick. Who was _She_?

Meanwhile, Marianna began to giggle happily as if she'd found something wondrous. "Uh huh," she said. "No." To Denara, it looked as if her friend was answering questions that only she could hear. "Okay," the little girl finally said and placed the orb back into the pouch. Denara sighed, thinking it was over with. But Marianna didn't put the pouch back under the bunk… but cradled it in her arms as she rose to leave.

"You cannot take it. It's not yours!" Denara insisted. "That's stealing!"

Marianna turned back to her friend with a face old beyond her barely five years. "I cannot steal what is mine to hold." She turned and regally walked out of the cabin.

Denara had known few moments of true power in her long life. For most of it, she'd had to depend on other immortals to help her survive. She'd seen them fall to others as the centuries had passed… and she never understood why she should remain when other, stronger immortals lost their heads. Then Phillip had brought them here and there was something about life on this island that seemed to echo dreams or desires born of dreams. Denara shook her head. "There's gonna be hell to pay for this… I just know it." But she followed Marianna up on deck and stood between her and the ship's immortals who were deep in conversation with the big red-haired man who was moaning and babbling something about ghosts. He sat on the deck and rocked back and forth holding his head… looking wild-eyed at the girls once in the midst of his tirade.

When Michelle saw them leaving, Denara became an accomplice in Marianna's theft. "We're going now. Thanks for the cookies," she waved and followed the child down the gangway wondering why she hadn't told them what Marianna was taking. _Because it's important!_ she thought. A shiver ran down her back as she sped up to walk beside Marianna. "What is that thing?"

Marianna shrugged. "It shows pictures. Want to see when we get home?"

Denara nodded. She very much wanted to see the pictures of the orb. Only then would she know what to do. Only then would she tell the doctor about it. Or if not the doctor… then she'd tell Phillip or Eleanor, but only them. They were the child's parents after all. She sped up, wondering that for once she was following Marianna instead of the other way around. She had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time.

-----

Sarah Manning rubbed her temples and tried to figure out why she felt so out of sorts. Likely it was because Cassandra had left. Yet she didn't seem to miss her… at least not emotionally. In the twenty-four hours since the psychic immortal had left, Sarah had felt ill… as when she'd experienced withdrawal from drugs back in the 1920's. She'd given them a try and decided it wasn't smart for an immortal to be so drugged up. She'd gone cold turkey to be rid of them… relying on her immortal constitution to help her manage it quickly. She still recalled the tremors and physical longing for the drugs. This was the same. She wanted to talk to Ben… Adam… about it. She could almost taste something in her mouth… something bitter and metallic.

Rubbing her arms, she rocked back and forth on the verandah where she was getting some late winter afternoon sun. Everyone kept talking about what a mild winter they were having. Sarah didn't know how cold it got here normally… she didn't care. It was a nice enough place… and Ben was here. Surely he'd tire of that "wife" of his before long. He had before. Another sharp pain darted like an electrical current of quickening in her mind as she tried to recall what it felt like to be in bed with Ben and how good it had made her feel. A wave of nausea passed over her and made her wonder what the hell was happening to her. Sarah pressed her legs together as a sense of longing and desire followed the nausea. She needed him. She shook her head almost violently as she tried to be free from whatever it was that was making her feel sick.

"You okay?" came the concerned voice of the one they called Greg.

She glanced up at him. "I'm fine… I guess I just miss Cassandra." It was true… she missed her… but there was also a relief that Cass was gone. Cassandra's presence confused her, and yet it had seemed to become all-important to her in a brief time. She'd had dozens of lovers in her century of life… both male and female. She and Cass had been intimate long ago. What was going on with her? Sarah shook her head. It was all so very confusing.

Greg crouched next to her, laying a hand on her brow. "You're a bit clammy. Have you been taking something?"

"If you mean drugs, no. I haven't done that in decades," she replied shaking his hand off.

He looked skeptical as he looked at her. "If you say so."

"I say so. Now leave me be."

Greg rose and shrugged. "Just being friendly. You look like you've seen better days. And I know it must be rough to be here without a friend."

"Who says I don't have a friend here… there's Ben… I mean Adam."

Greg nodded. "Yeah… Adam. And he seldom gives you more than a curt nod."

Sarah bit back a further retort. Instead she smiled. "I guess I just miss Cassandra. She's my teacher, you know."

"So I was told," Greg replied with a knowing nod. "Well if you ever need someone to listen or to talk to… I'll be around." He winked, turned and was gone. Sarah watched him go down the graveled path that led between the hospital and the villa. Along the way, he stopped and spoke with Katherine Sutherland. They chatted for a moment, laughing at something. Sarah's expression twisted as she figured they were laughing at her… "Poor Sarah. She's totally lost without Cassandra. She's hopeless as an immortal." With a strangled snort, she turned and sulked. One of these days… they'd all pay!

The sound of small footsteps barely registered on her as two of the children raced up the path, across the veranda and into the villa. She'd always believed that there was no place in the game for the child immortals. It was a game of strength, skill and brains. She couldn't see how the immortals here didn't see that… why they let these "children" run around this way.

Again she felt both nausea and desire. She hated herself for these useless feelings. She was immortal! She hadn't spent this last century being anyone's pawn! She was strong and had always gone her own way! Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she wiped them away angrily. It all had to do with her kidnapping and the things Kingsley had done to her, she was certain. He'd made her completely dependent on him and dedicated to pleasing him in order to prevent his hurting her… killing her. Sarah rose abruptly and stalked along the path toward the mountain path. She'd heard there were ruins up there… that Kingsley had died up there… perhaps a walk was what she needed.

-----

Catching sight of movement at the corner of his eye, Greg paused in his conversation with Katherine to note that Sarah was headed over to the Pilgrim's Path and evidently up the mountain. "That can't be good," he muttered.

"Why?" Katherine replied, puzzled.

"Eleanor went up there early this morning. She hasn't come down."

"Oh." Katherine watched Sarah's ascent and shook her head. "Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe the two of them really need to talk. I don't pretend to understand everything around here… but it's obvious that Sarah has a thing for Adam. I mean the way she watches him when they're in the same room. She clearly thinks she's the one he should be involved with."

Grey laughed lightly. "Trust me Katherine… Adam is exactly where he wants to be. He and Eleanor have a connection that makes me envious. I want something like that."

"Watching them always makes me smile and wish something like that," Katherine replied soberly and with a hint of sadness in her voice. "And then there is Hope. Grace and John are so blessed to have her."

He gazed at her sadly. "It's wonderful. Hope is a miracle… and I feel strongly connected to her… but not necessarily to Grace and certainly not to John. Yet I would do anything they asked of me. It's a new world."

"And Sarah has yet to find her place in it. Perhaps we should make an effort to be more friendly to her."

Greg nodded. "I've thought the same." He chuckled and then nodded toward the hospital where a chopper was circling to land. "Guess I better get over there. It looks like things are picking back up."

"Guess with the holidays about over… accidents and surgical procedures are back on the schedule," Katherine commented wryly.

He bid her farewell and continued along the path, his mind already on the patient now being off-loaded. Thoughts of Sarah Manning left his mind.

-----

Eleanor stared out at the calm Aegean Sea with something almost akin to despair. She should have been the one to go to Paris! She could feel it in her very being. Her daughter needed her! She didn't like being the one left behind! She didn't like shuffling Alisaunne off on others… she never had. Because of J.D. and Marianna though, she'd acquiesced to Methos' command with nary an argument over the years. He was right… she was needed here with the children… but surely for a few days… now that they were older… she could have gone to the girl she so desperately wanted to love.

There was also Cassandra's seduction of Derrick. It had taken a great deal of effort to keep her from flying out of the room and attacking the psychic then and there last night. She'd been furious and the desire to fight Cassandra had nearly overwhelmed her. She hadn't been that angry in a long, long time. Methos had prevented the confrontation… and she'd held her tongue when Cassandra agreed to go Paris. Now she was worried about both Alisaunne and Derrick. Some inner fear kept whispering that death was stalking them both… and might well find them. She wasn't certain Derrick's lover, Amber Conroy, could protect him from Cassandra if the psychic decided to make another play for him. At the same time… she had begun to worry about Cassandra's influence on Alisaunne.

Eleanor had sat up most of last night… unable or unwilling to sleep. She'd shut herself off from the bond with Methos because she didn't want to upset him… so confused were her thoughts and personal demons. She rubbed her eyes slightly. She was tired… but she still had no answers. She'd managed this morning to smile and bid Derrick farewell on his journey… but feared that once he stood in the grove as an immortal… she'd lose him as she'd lost Darius.

She should have been the one to go!

Since the ferry had left, she'd sat up here, letting the brisk wind that whistled across the mountaintop complex calm her. She'd barely noticed when Phillip had stopped by on his way down to the cove to check on Valeraine. Eleanor was alone and right now… that's what she wanted.

The warmth of the winter afternoon had faded as the day moved toward dusk… and she actually felt a chill as she sat on one of the rough stone walls that were all that was left of the temple complex of the Oracle of Poseidon. Occasionally she heard small animals nosing about… but mostly… she just heard the sounds of ocean and wind. She closed her eyes and hugged herself.

It was then that she felt an immortal approach. So accustomed was she to immortals on this island, that she usually didn't take note of one. But up here… isolated from the group as a whole… her old instincts kicked in. She didn't move in the gathering dusk, but watched the approaching figure with slitted eyes.

Sarah Manning.

Eleanor had managed not to have any confrontations with Sarah or even have anything to say to her other than the cursory pleasantries required in group conversation. She wasn't so much jealous of her having been Methos' lover once… as uneasy in the face of what was apparently her desire to pick up where they'd left off. Methos had assured Eleanor that nothing was further from his mind… but he was hiding something. Ever since he'd come back… she'd known that something was bothering him… something that he'd felt the need to shut down a part of himself in the bond. Eleanor could feel some degree of shame in whatever it was. Unable to get him to talk to her Christmas night… she'd made love to him openly… hoping that all the walls would fall. They hadn't.

Was he pulling away from her? Why? And did Sarah… despite his words… have anything to do with it.

"Who's there?" Sarah called from the edge of the plateau where the complex began.

"Eleanor," she replied evenly. She sighed, slapped her thighs and rose. "I was just leaving." She didn't want to leave… but she didn't want to be alone up here with Sarah… not with the way she was feeling.

"Please don't," the other women asked. "We need to talk."

"I'm not in a good mood to talk right now. Ask me tomorrow," Eleanor said brusquely and tried to pass her by. One of Sarah's hands reached out to grab Eleanor's arm. She reacted and Sarah was immediately on her back with Eleanor leaning over her, her foot poised on Sarah's neck and exerting a good deal of pressure. "I said tomorrow," she reiterated between gritted teeth. She pushed her foot heavily onto Sarah's neck before pivoting on the other foot and marching off down the carved stone steps. To her way of thinking… she'd shown a great deal of restraint toward Cassandra's pupil. She only wished it had been Cassandra herself.

-----


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Niebos, evening of 28 December, 2023:**

Marianna looked crestfallen. "You really don't see anything?"

Denara shook her head. Ever since returning to the villa, they'd been in their room and Marianna had been trying to show Denara how to relax and see the pictures.

"Maybe you're special," Denara lisped. After all… she was a born immortal as opposed to a found one.

Marianna took the orb and grinned at the sight of animals jumping through a verdant forest. _These are the children of Eden_, the voice said softly. _We care for them._ Marianna found herself lost in the moving picture. It was better than any nature documentary that she'd ever seen before. And the voice was calm and loving… like her momma's voice.

Seeing that her friend was spellbound as she stared into the milky orb, Denara scooted off the bed as she headed for the door. She hated to get the little one in trouble, but she was frightened by what was happening to the little girl.

Quietly she left, closing the door behind her. She needed to find either Phillip or the doctor. And she knew just where to find them.

-----

"To the left!" barked a short-tempered Methos to Phillip. The Swordmaster was on the floor deploying the filament camera this time while he watched the screen. Methos rubbed his eyes as the shapes of the artifacts failed to remind him of any further landscapes. They'd been at this most of the night and all day today. After he and Eleanor had argued last night, he'd shut her out and come down here to work on this.

He was obsessed with this project and he recognized that fully. Yet recognizing it and being able to put it aside were two entirely different things. He took a deep breath and tried to mentally take a step back. Unfortunately, all he was able to think of was what he and others had thought of as a "game" for many years… the computer disk of the photographs of the objects. When he and Derrick had first seen it, they'd lost hours trying to arrange the photographs while MacLeod sought to find the originals. Duncan had ended up making a copy of the disk and then he, too, had spent years arranging the photos.

Methos had lost interest in the "game" after Derrick had grown up and left on his own. The ancient immortal by that time had other concerns. His focus had been on the children and on ways to make the world safer for them as they grew up. Oh not in big ways… but he'd feared for them as he'd sensed their latent immortality. While living forever… surviving across the millennia had been something he'd always wanted and still did… he wasn't certain it was something he wanted for J.D. and Marianna.

These artifacts had consumed Darius for a thousand years or more as he gathered him or as others had sent them to him… not knowing why they did so. They were the pieces of their collective past… Methos was more certain of that as each day passed… and it was time they unlocked their secrets. MacLeod had seen the symbols… those archetypal glyphs that were the signs that the ancient Aja had first taught Methos. Had she carved and left these all over the word? If so… why were they placed in all cultures and time periods? What did they mean collectively? What did they truly represent? What made them so damned compelling?

"How's that?" Phillip snapped. He was not in a good mood either. Hadn't been, really, Methos observed, since killing Kingsley. That had been his first actual quickening in over twelve hundred years. Recalling his own various returns to the game when he'd been out of it for a time… feeling that he'd killed too many… that he needed time to balance all the voices and memories into a coherent whole, he realized that Phillip was having some difficulty with re-ordering his thoughts and finding himself again. Perhaps he'd been out of the game too long. His presence felt prickly… out of sorts… raising alarms in Methos' reaction to him. He'd last felt these alarms in the closing days of his time with the horsemen. He, Kronos, Caspian, and Silas had been together too long and the close association of four powerful immortals had charged the air between them with arguments, distrust, and fear. Was it happening again? Were immortals never meant to achieve anything except the wholesale slaughter of their race?

Methos worried that Eleanor felt it as well… and thus her increasing unease about remaining here any longer… add to that the sudden erection of her mental walls since Derrick's arrival as well as the erection of his since finding that odd memory in the patterns between them. Every time he explored it, she seemed to draw further away. And every time he felt like he was betraying all they'd ever meant to one another in his pursuit of understanding it. It was like raping her without her knowledge.

It was why he was working on the set of artifacts that involved the glyph of "_Choice_". He needed to find the answers. He needed to clear the air between them. And he needed to know that it all wasn't going to end in their mutual death… and the slaughter of their children. Fears that the actions and failures of the past were about to descend on them all were filling his every thought these days… and worrying him. _Why?_ He wanted to scream. _Why tease us with the possibility of a future and then take it away from us? Why?_ But whatever memories from the ancients that lay within him were silent. Perhaps the answers lay elsewhere… perhaps with Alisaunne.

_Not our child so much as theirs!_ he seethed. And therein lay the cause of his current state of mind. Eleanor still thought of the girl fondly and wanted a relationship with her… maybe seeking to capture something that had been lost. And he'd feared that he would lose them both if she went to Paris. He could still feel his shock the day that Alisaunne had attempted to seduce him. She'd done the same to MacLeod… but it had been different with him.

-----

_**December 2013:**_

Methos has still been asleep when the insistent ringing of the phone had pierced his dreams for the fourth time. He'd rolled over and ignored the previous attempts to wake him… but had finally decided that whoever the hell had his number would keep calling until he picked up. He grumbled that they weren't just leaving the message on the system so that he could return the call when he wanted to. Say… in ten or twenty years.

"Adam Pierson!" he barked into the phone. "This had better be important.

"Merry Christmas to you too," came a familiar voice with the slightest hint of Highland brogue.

"What is it MacLeod? You kill Amanda and just had to call and tell me?"

"Not exactly… but something has happened with Alisaunne."

An icy dagger plunged into Methos' heart and he glanced at the figure on the bed behind him. Thankfully Eleanor was still deep in sleep. Quietly he rose and slipped into the master bath where he shut the door.

"What happened?" he asked in a voice far calmer than what he actually felt. He was uneasy around Alisaunne since that last abortive visit in Paris. Before that she'd been on Niebos and nearly torn the ruins down seeking Nestor's hidden body. Eleanor had insisted on taking J.D. with them to Paris. "I want them to know each other. She's his sister. He should know that." Methos had given in to her as he so often had in recent days. They'd stopped off in Paris, seen Joe… wanting him to hold his namesake… and then had gone to Alisaunne's. Methos shivered in the bathroom, not from the cold tile but from the memory of what had nearly happened.

He listened in dread as MacLeod told him about Alisaunne's attempt to seduce him… admitting how close he'd come to raping her. "Something isn't right with her," he admitted. "Something besides just the two of us seemed to be involved. It was as if some greater force was pushing both of us into an assignation neither of us truly wanted. She needs help Methos. And I don't think you or I are equipped to deal with her right now."

Methos wiped his brow and closed his eyes. He understood exactly what MacLeod was saying. He could still feel her lips pressed against his and his own surprise as the kiss became insistent… and he too had suddenly thought she was right. They weren't really related. It was the way of their kind.

"Where were you when it happened?" he croaked out, feeling very uncomfortable with his current thoughts.

"Her place," MacLeod said, "Her flat… we'd had something to eat and things got strange. Then again earlier today… at the grove. That time, it was darker… deadlier and I attacked her. At first it was to show her that she didn't truly want the Duncan who was touched by darkness… and then… it almost became a rape. I nearly couldn't stop."

Methos closed his eyes. He was in the grove with Alisaunne. They'd been down to the cavern so that he could see if any of her ideas and suggestions made sense. After all, he'd known the ancient called Havron… had studied under him… learned to control his thoughts and emotions with Havron's help. Then… she'd leaned her head on his arm as they'd crossed the grove. He'd laughed and leaned down to kiss her brow in fatherly affection. At that moment she had glanced up… their lips had touched and moments later they'd been on the ground and fumbling with one another's clothes. He'd wanted her. It wasn't as if she was really his daughter.

And then he'd pulled away as the sudden realization of who she was had hit him. She'd flung herself on him again… begging him to love her just this one time.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll get some help for her. It's evidently gotten worse." He hung up the phone a few moments later but continued to sit on the edge of the garden tub and let the cold tile calm him. Finally he rose to return to bed.

Eleanor was awake. "What was that about?"

"Alisaunne tried to seduce Duncan," he said grimly as he climbed back into bed. "I suppose I have to call Cassandra now… I don't think anyone else can reach her."

"She needs me," Eleanor said sadly as she lay close to him, inside his embracing arms.

"Not gonna happen right now. J.D. needs you."

"He needs you more," she said.

"He needs us both if he's to survive."

-----

Methos shook his head. It suddenly hit him that when he'd been with Alisaunne in the grove he'd heard drums. He'd dismissed it as just the beating of his heart or his pulse sounding in his head. Now he wasn't so sure. The drums of that blasted black memory with Eleanor and his memory of the aborted seduction had an eerie similar feel to it. His breath caught in his throat and he blinked away the sweat beads forming on his brow.

_Was that when it started? _

Even now the thought of that day still unsettled him and made him wary of being with Alisaunne. Thankfully, during the intervening years, she'd managed most years to join them in Virginia at Christmas… especially after Marianna was born. The children thought of her as Eleanor's sister rather than theirs… or J.D. had until he'd learned about immortals. Methos didn't know what he thought about Alisaunne anymore. Marianna was still too young to know anything.

"Am I moving this thing for any reason at all?' came Phillip's exasperated voice from the floor. "You're not even looking at the screen."

"Sorry… it's been a long day and I've been worried about Eleanor, Derrick, and Alisaunne. I guess it's time to lay this aside for a bit," Methos replied with a shrug. It was true, if not the whole truth. He shut down the camera as Phillip climbed to his feet and stretched his arms, back, and muscles.

"Man was not made to lie on the floor. We need to come up with a better way."

Both turned at the shy knock on the door. It opened a crack and Denara's head peeked in. "I need to talk to the doctor," she said shyly.

"I'll finish up," Phillip said with a wave of his hand. "Go! Go!"

Methos rose and joined Denara at the door, instantly aware that the small one was deeply concerned about something. Since she was Marianna's _de facto_ babysitter, Methos feared something had happened to his daughter. As if this day wasn't stressful enough already.

-----

Marianna was lying on the bed with her back to the door when he opened it gently. He could see a flickering light reflected on the wall and held his breath. The last thing he wanted was for his five-year old daughter to be caught up in this puzzle. But maybe she was a part of it. The children's creation and birth was as much the end product of the secrets of the ancients as anything. Or was it? Was it simply the next step? Were they as much a part of solving the equation as he, MacLeod, Derrick, and Eleanor were?

Methos held his breath as he softly closed the door. Marianna rolled over and smiled at him. "Come see the pictures," she said innocently.

Methos nodded, unable or unwanting to resist. Once before he'd sat with Derrick in his lap, while together they had watched the panorama of recorded history. He'd do it again if he had to. Maybe this time he'd see what he needed to see… see what had eluded him.

But it wasn't history he saw this time, but scenes of the world as it was or as it had been… and the creatures that inhabited it. Like some bird on the wing, he and Marianna seemed to float about the world, plummeting occasionally in dives through canyons or to follow herds of animals racing the wind. Unlike Marianna, he heard no voice. If it was Aja, he thought he would know it if he heard it. But from what Marianna said to it in reply, Methos thought this voice might be older… might be designed to awaken someone to the connection of immortals to all life on the planet.

Ramirez… Tak Ne… had often posited such a thought. "We are a part of this planet," he'd once insisted. "We are the guardians of life and we can channel and use their power as our own."

Methos had never thought that Ramirez had it quite right. But maybe he had.

He glanced up as someone turned on the lights in the room. He smiled at Eleanor, and raised a hand in invitation. "Come see what your daughter has found."

Eleanor shook her head. He could see the tears sparkling in her eyes. It was only then that he noticed that she was drenched and shivering. Even her hair was wet. He looked out the window, listening and wondering if it were raining. "What happened?"

"I missed the tide," she shrugged. "I had to swim back. I'm wet. I'm cold. I want a bath and something hot to eat. Have fun without me." She turned sharply and left the open doorway. Methos' eyes returned to the scenes and he tilted his head as they flew over and near a certain rocky shoreline appearing out of the mist… the same one that one set of the artifacts had reminded him of. He focused once more on the scenes shown… certain his answers lay here. Eleanor could wait.

-----

Eleanor had not intended to go down to the cove. She'd planned on just going back down the mountain by means of the Pilgrim's Path as she had occasionally. She was not interested in spending one moment more on the mountain with Sarah Manning. Evidently Sarah hadn't gotten the message.

"You should set Ben free," Sarah had coughed out at her as Eleanor had turned to leave, satisfied that she'd restrained herself.

"You know nothing," she'd said darkly… the warning implicit in her tone.

"I know you love that new one… Derrick. I see it. Ben sees it. Everyone sees it. Derrick leaves and you come up here to pout. You should set Ben free. He could be happy with me. I'd never put him second."

Eleanor had felt like she'd been punched. Did it seem that way? Yes she loved Derrick… and not because he reminded her of Darius. But because she'd raised him! He was as much her child as J.D., Marianna, or yes, even Alisaunne were. There had been many times over the past few years that her arms had ached to hold the boy again… no… not the boy… the man he'd become. But never had she considered that she was setting Methos aside. The two of them had waited so long before making the choice to be together, that what they had was not to be set aside lightly.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. It was true she'd left him last century to try again to get Darius to be something more than her friend and mentor. She'd been honest with Methos in recent years about that time of her life. She had loved Darius as strongly as she'd loved him. But unlike Methos, Darius had never seemed to return that love. Their relationship had been platonic except for a few occasions when one or the other would make a sudden move toward the other and then something would happen that would prevent it being anything more than a casual touch, a chaste kiss, or a fond caress.

They'd spent centuries "playing house" in the grove… but her bed had always been hers and never theirs. His death had shattered her as nothing else ever had. Methos had understood this all too clearly when he'd given her the news. Darius had died and Methos had lived. She'd once chosen Methos over a chance for something with Darius only to lose it in an instant… when Darius had lied to her that Methos had raped her. He'd never before lied to her. She'd had no reason not to believe him… she certainly was in pain as if she'd been ripped apart. Now she knew that she'd carried and given birth to a child in a matter of hours… a child Darius had felt necessary to take from her as he'd realized that the child would kill her if she even held it. He'd then given the child his strength instead. He'd sacrificed most of what he was for that child. And that child still needed her!

Sarah was just getting on her feet now. Eleanor grabbed her by the throat and bore back her to the ground, gripping Sarah's throat tighter and tighter. "Bitch!" she screamed. "You have no clue what it is between us. How dare you come into my home and ask me to leave just so you can get it off with him again." She banged Sarah's head to the stones until she heard bones crack and noticed the blood pooling on the ground… it looked black in the darkness.

Eleanor had gasped and released her hands from Sarah's throat. She'd sobbed as she sat back and covered her mouth. Resolutely she'd kept her mental walls erected, ashamed of what had happened. Eleanor scrambled to her feet… needing to get away from here… needing to beg absolution of the oracle… even if she were the only oracle who existed now. She stumbled toward the cove steps and plunged down them with nary a thought for her own safety. After all… if she fell… she'd eventually revive… and the cove was holy ground.

She didn't fall… but the waters had long since covered the small crescent beach of white sand. The water wasn't deep… only four feet or so… and it lapped against the cliff-face in a regular pattern. Eleanor could sense the dark presence of Valeraine… Nestor… beneath the waters. She couldn't go back up to the temple… she didn't want to face Sarah again… or worse… her own actions. Instead she'd stepped into the water and begun to wade toward the far side of where the beach became a path that meandered around the island to the village. She'd kept the cliff on her right hand as she'd waded and swum, occasionally attempting to stand on the surface beneath the water's surface. She felt like she was drowning in bitterness and anger. Nestor's evil… seeming to sense her… flowed over and through her… trying to pull her to him. Eleanor dug deep in her psyche to ignore him… but it cost her dearly in her reserves of strength.

She'd spent a good thirty minutes in the water before reaching a point where the land began to rise and she'd emerged on the path. If she'd been cold before… she was thoroughly chilled now. Her teeth had begun to chatter and she'd hugged herself, rubbing her arms as she'd climbed to the villa.

In her room, she stripped off her sodden clothes and ran a hot bath. She poured aromatic oils into the water and eased in… flinching at first and then relaxing in the heat. She turned on the jets and warmer as she eased back against the tub's wall and let the tears fall. Her life was falling apart and she didn't know why. She'd done everything that was expected of her… but instead of "happily ever after" she was facing the loss of everything she cared about. She drew her knees up to her and laid her face on them as she wept bitterly.

-----

Methos found Eleanor cocooned in the covers when he came to bed. He slipped in beside her, and realized that she was completely wound in them, with only her head sticking out from them. She was shivering and felt cold to the touch. He grabbed another blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her, followed by his arms. He pulled her close.

Finally she rolled in his embrace and seemed to stare up at him. He felt no nudges against the mental wall he'd erected and sighed. She'd evidently stopped trying to breach them.

"You should have contacted me earlier. I could have taken one of the small boats around and picked you up," he chided her gently even as he hugged her more tightly.

"I was fine. The water was just colder than I expected. It's not as if I'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Still… something could have happened." He thought of the lost Chou… swept out to sea during the _tsunami_. Methos didn't want to lose her… but if he were honest with himself… he wondered if he'd have even acknowledged her cry for help if she'd made one.

"What did Derrick's crystal show Marianna?" she said finally breaking the silence.

He smiled. "Animals… visions of different places… nothing historical though."

"Strange," she whispered as she shifted closed in his embrace, seemingly comforted by his presence. "I wonder what that means?"

He didn't know, but his mind was still tuned to the landscapes he'd seen… and to the artifacts littering the floor of Phillip's study. Already he was anticipating working with them again in the light of what he'd seen in the stone.

Eleanor fell asleep, and gradually, he felt her body temperature return to normal.

-----


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Hong Kong, 29 December 2023:**

The calm, amusing and somewhat smug smile on Kiem Sun's face made Duncan nervous. The Oriental knew something about Amanda's reasons for being here that he didn't. Oh he was certain she had something besides helping him locate Kate in mind… but as to what it was precisely… Duncan hadn't a clue.

_What was it he'd said earlier… something about having seen the dusk of dawn?_ Duncan thought as he continued to pace slightly, feeling a bit like a big cat caged for too long and ready to be out and on the hunt. His back burned and itched from where she'd scratched him last night and he was having a hard time concentrating or remaining calm. Some part of him wanted to grab Amanda and make love to her here and now. He was furious at himself for not having better control. Besides, if Kiem Sun knew nothing else, it was time to be gone; but where should he go next? Finally he threw himself into a chair and crossed his legs while leaning his chin on his elbow. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and he was in control of himself and his reactions. He kept repeating this himself even as he felt his need for Amanda grow more apparent as the scratches on his back began to feel like living fire. The sensation was odd… especially as he knew they'd healed.

By this time, Kiem Sun and Amanda had ceased speaking in Mandarin and with eyes nearly twinkling with amusement, Kiem told her. "I know why you are here."

Amanda smiled and shrugged slightly. "Oh… beyond simply looking for Alistair and his companion, what am I looking for?"

Kiem Sun rose, stepped to her, bent over and lightly touched her neck. "If I may." She nodded and he slipped a finger under her collar and drew out the sliver of crystal she wore on its gold chain. Duncan's brow knotted curiously. "The Methuselah Stone… I understand all of Rebecca's students received a part of it."

"Most of the pieces of the stone were lost in the River Seine," Amanda explained. Duncan could hear a touch of wonder in her voice. "Why would I think it was here?"

Sun shrugged as he let the crystal fall on Amanda's chest and turned away. "I didn't say it was here. But you wore that sliver openly centuries ago. Korda once told me that he'd seen it." Kiem Sun turned and spread his arms. "What you seek is still here. I give you leave to find it." Again he smiled that knowing, placid smile that made Duncan's stomach churn.

"What game are you playing Kiem Sun?" he growled.

"I play no game, MacLeod. But Amanda hoped to find something here. If she can find it… she can leave with it if she so desires."

"Very well," Amanda said, uncrossing her legs and standing. Holding her hands behind her back she strolled slowly about the room, peering at things. When she reached the archway to the hall she stopped and bent over as she peered at the sideboard positioned near there. She smiled back at Kiem Sun and winked. Then she trailed her fingers along the dark wood surface until she stood before the center of the piece of massive furniture. The sideboard had a carved back that contained a panel of a scene of Chinese workers in the field.

Sun laughed as she touched the corners of it. "She's good," he winked at MacLeod.

Amanda pressed different parts of the carving until there was a slight _pop_ and the carving lowered to reveal a wall safe. "A **_Cymerex 5000_** with liquid crystal display, electronic pad, and a DNA lock. Impressive."

Sun stepped closer to her. "Can you get it open? I'm told that it is impossible to crack and that it is the very latest in home security."

Amanda glanced at Duncan and then draped a hand around Kiem Sun's neck. "There is a way." Swiftly she kissed him… a hard and insistent kiss that drew his breath into her mouth. Then she turned and breathed against the DNA lock while her fingers quickly flew across the keypad in an elaborate sequence of numbers. Eventually the numbers matched up and all three heard the safe unlock. "Like taking candy from a baby," she said with a knowing shrug as she opened the safe and pulled out a square ebony box.

Duncan felt a growl rising in him and he made a fist. Thoughts of tearing Kiem Sun limb from limb toyed about in his mind. He glared at the Oriental who seemed oblivious to the Highlander's overt jealousy.

Kiem Sun laughed and stepped back. "Clever girl. Now what do you have there?"

Amanda opened the box. Her eyes grew wide and she reached to touch the surface of the great pearl. It was amazing. She'd seen it briefly when she'd tried to rob this place, and had never been able to completely forget it. Now it was hers. She caressed the smooth milky surface and thought of how much such a large and perfect pearl could bring.

Duncan rose to stand beside her… his eyes focused on the pulsing red light of the crystal that lay nestled in the box. He could see at the center a baby crying. His heart turned and he wanted that child. He stepped away, shaking his head and blinking his eyes. "What madness… what magic is this?"

"Old magic," Kiem Sun replied. "From the dawn of time."

Amanda glanced up at them both, reluctant to take her eyes off of the pearl. "What are you two talking about?"

"What do you see Amanda?" Kiem Sun asked her.

"A pearl of great price. I would sell all I own to possess it." She laughed nervously, realizing that her words resonated with an old story from the Christian Bible.

"A pearl? Larger than any ever seen? Perfect?" Sun continued.

"Yes," she replied with hungry wonder.

"And you MacLeod… what did you see? What desire lies at the center of your heart?"

"None of your business," Duncan muttered and closed the lid on the box. Amanda blinked at him and then seemed to waver slightly as if coming out of a trance. Duncan took the box from her slack hands and offered it to Kiem Sun who did not take it.

"It has that effect. It gives us our heart's desire or shows it… and I like you cannot speak of what I now know."

"But Amanda can?"

"Perhaps because her desires are more clearly on things… acquiring wealth. You and I seek other things."

"What did you see Kiem Sun?"

"Alas, friend MacLeod, I cannot say. After my time in the joined dream with the others, I was left with visions of an earlier time… a racial memory that I wished to know better… to learn more about. When my workmen found the stone… which did nothing for them… they tell me it is a worthless hunk of quartz… I saw and understood our beginnings. But I find I cannot speak of them."

"Why show it to us?"

"I wondered what you'd see. I thought it possible you might find what you are seeking so earnestly within it."

Duncan glanced down at the box. Slowly he opened it again and focused on the pulsing red glow. Again he saw the baby lying naked on the ground and crying, afterbirth still clinging to his face. _It's a boy_, he thought with a smile. Then the field of vision seemed to shrink and then expand until he was high above a jungle, and then high above an isthmus… he could see cities, mountains and rivers around that jungle where the child lay, and then a region of the world he recognized. Slowly he closed the box again and swallowed the sob that wanted to break free. "I know where to go."

Kiem Sun smiled that persistent knowing smile. "I have my answers and they have brought me peace. May your answers bring you peace as well."

"If Amanda tries to have this appraised…" Duncan began.

"Mortals see only quartz. They will think her quite mad," Kiem Sun replied knowingly. "But I think she will be happy just to gaze at it. It might hold her prisoner until someone took her head though."

Duncan considered the Methuselah Stone that was said to possess great power to make even a mortal, immortal. Luther had thought it would grant him power over the others. The stone Derrick possessed showed visions of the past, according to Methos and Eleanor. Was this another one? If one stone was power, another knowledge, what was this one… "Desire," he said aloud.

Amanda shook her head, turned and closed the safe and the sideboard panel. "Now… where were we?" She seemed oblivious to the stone as long as it remained hidden now that she'd actually held it, touched it.

"As I said MacLeod, I have my answers and I am content. Take the stone if you wish. May you find your heart's desire and may it be all you wish it to be," Sun said with a slight bow.

-----

They'd left Kiem Sun to his dreams and illusions about what he knew or thought he knew. The Oriental immortal was content to live his life, meet a challenge or two and die if that was his fate. His intense obsession with surviving the Gathering seemed gone… as if he'd moved on to another obsession.

The crystal, within which Duncan still saw a pulsing red light… rather like a heartbeat… rested comfortably in his coat pocket until they returned to the hotel room. There, Amanda wanted to see it again and he watched with worry as she stared steadily at it for nearly an hour and didn't seem to be aware of him or their surroundings. Finally he closed the box and set it aside against her protest. He carried her to their bed. She lay as one dreaming for some time before she turned toward him. "We could be rich," she said. "Not just comfortably well off but rich… so rich that we'd never have to work or steal again."

"We're already rich," he tried to tell her, slipping a hand under her blouse and nuzzling her neck. The healed scratches on his back itched and burned and he wanted something from her. He placed one of her hands on his throbbing groin. "Make me yours."

Amanda squeezed him and he gasped… wanting more. Her eyes blinked slowly and her tongue darted into his mouth. She pressed him to the bed and straddled him, slowly removing his clothes and hers, all the while kissing him and letting her tongue dart, and probe. She leaned down to bite his nipples and then lowered to his groin where she bit, licked and sucked on him. His hands grasped her shoulders as he began to buck beneath her. His back was like a blazing fire now. He placed her hands on his chest where they began to scratch him. He could sense some of the patterns in those scratches. Still her tongue moved… also in the patterns. With a sudden growl he threw her to one side and mounted her… thrusting at her harshly. Her legs encircled his waist and she moaned. At some point he began to rake his fingers over her chest, copying the patterns as he always had, delighting that he drew blood. He collapsed against her finally feeling some degree of relief as their scratches healed and their blood intermixed.

Then he lay atop of her, breathing in great gulps of air. Duncan rose on his elbows and brushed her dark hair out of her eyes. He peered into her face. "What are we doing?"

"I think we must be trying to move to the next level," she gasped. "I have a feeling this is what Robert and Gina faced and why they decided to do what they did."

"I need you," Duncan replied thickly. "I don't want to lose you."

One of Amanda's hands reached blindly for the drawer of the bedside table. She opened it and pulled out a dirk… an elegant and beautifully embossed and jeweled dagger that he'd seen her carry since he'd first met her. She lifted it into the air and then slipped her hand, still grasping the knife, to between them. "Can we manage knowing each other's thoughts? Remember how bad Robert and Gina were… they nearly killed one another."

Duncan rolled off her and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. She was right. Methos and Eleanor were right. This wasn't something that should ever be done lightly. He turned to Amanda and kissed the hand that held the dirk. "Maybe we should wait."

Amanda nodded and then pulled closer to him for another passionate kiss. He slipped the knife from her hand as he bore down on her again, his back once more inflamed and begging for her blood to mix with his. Maybe they could chance just one or two… just enough to understand what would happen?

He held down her left hand and poised the knife in her palm. She nodded and he began to scratch her palm with "Trust". She hissed and took the blade from him. He offered her his palm. "She cut the symbol for "Desire" into his palm and then they pressed their bleeding palms together. In that moment she was the center of his being and the focus of all he wanted. The memory of their first time together and this one mingled as their blood mingled. He saw the memory from her point of view… understood in the flash of a moment that any time two immortals chose to be together, some degree of trust and desire were there. In the memory he opened up to the man above him and accepted him with an open heart. In the now, he plunged deeply, thankful that she allowed this. It was difficult to separate the memory of their lovemaking from this… and somewhere in the distance… he thought he heard voices chanting and the beating of drums. Firelight flickered as he plunged deeply into her. Somehow, he didn't' think they'd be able to stop until they'd truly become one. Nor did he think that the next set of cuts would be as controlled or shallow.

Behind them on the dresser, within its ornate ebony box, the crystal pulsed more swiftly.

-----

Come dawn, they lay in one another's arms, sated and feeling as if they'd never been closer. Her thoughts were his, and his hers. When they made love, it was amazing and Duncan thought he'd never get enough of it. When he made love to her, he understood it from her perspective and knew instinctively what she wanted. The experience filled him totally. He kissed her hands and grinned.

"Well we've done it now."

"I can't read your thoughts now," Amanda pouted. "And here I thought I'd get all of your deepest, darkest secrets."

He laughed. "I think it might only manifest itself at first when we make love. It will grow though… and we have to be careful about stray thoughts."

Amanda shifted in his embrace, her eyes twinkling. "Like thoughts of other lovers."

"Evidently. I guess we have to learn to accept that as a part of who we are."

"As long as you sleep in my bed and no other," laughed Amanda.

Duncan glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "We need to get up. I know where they've gone and we have to get there before it's too late."

Amanda sobered and touched his face. "We will manage this together, Duncan. I love you."

He smiled and kissed her tenderly. In that kiss he lost his resolve and began to make love to her again… slowly this time… and with great control and passion. He wanted it to be perfect.

-----

The storm blew into Hong Kong from the southwest, drenching the island city with rain and wind. The lovers, so intent on discovering one another, never noticed it. Whenever the maid discreetly knocked at the door, they laughed and told her to go away. They'd have to dispose of the bloody sheets later… but right now… being together was what was important.

Growing hungry… they ordered room service and ate on the bed… eager and hungry not for food… but for one another. The pulsing crystal was nearly steady with its red throb now. They didn't see it… the box was closed… but they pushed the food off the bed and began again… this time discovering the memories of those other lovers… mortal and immortal over the years. He'd had plenty of them… and so had she. Yet each of them became a treasured part of the other as those memories were shared. In loving her… Duncan discovered he wanted her more than he'd ever before contemplated. He felt complete and whole for the first time in his life.

They showered and he pushed her against the shower stall wall and took her from behind… finding new memories and the glory of the heist. "What do you get from me?" he asked her thickly as he thrust into her.

"War… she said… and the killing times in Scotland."

He bit her neck, letting his tongue hit one of the small white scars that had remained after the last patterns of "Time" and "Unity" had been placed there. He felt it flare even more strongly as he knew heights of pleasure in pulling off the perfect job. He understood how she could be so addicted to theft for a thousand years. There really was nothing like pulling off the perfect crime.

Amanda had fought immortals and mortals in single hand-to-hand combat, but she'd never fought in a war. There was nothing like it! There was an excitement in the blood-rage of battle that thrilled her as nothing ever had. She moved with him, faster and faster as she moved across a hundred battlefields and slaughtered men almost indiscriminately. When he climaxed and sagged against her, she shuddered in the memory of a hundred deaths.

Above them the water poured over them. Outside the rain continued.

-----

"Go away!" Duncan called to the voices at the door. He trolled his tongue over Amanda's sweat-covered body and breathed in her musky odor. He affixed his mouth over a breast and sucked hard while his fingers trailed over her in the patterns. He could feel her fingers on him and knew she was as hungry for him as he was for her. The blood and sweat-drenched sheets had long since been ripped from the mattress and even it smelled of sweat and sex. And still he wanted to know her better.

Again the voices at the open but security-locked door sounded, begging entrance. Duncan tuned them out.

Amanda grasped him in her hands and began massaging him as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were wide with need. It was as if something were propelling them… pushing them to further heights of pleasure than either had ever experienced and each level they attained made them want more.

Hands grabbed him. He fought them in his attempt to get back to her. She fought them as well… trying to get to him.

Something pierced a vein at his neck and a cold fire raced along his arteries. He stopped fighting and focused on her… she was at the center of his diminishing vision. "Amanda," he croaked out, his throat dry and his lips cracked and bleeding. And then he closed his eyes.

-----

The room was a pale green. The drapes, dark green and heavy were drawn against the sunlight. Duncan could still see it reflected around the corners of the drape. He breathed in and out regularly and tried to figure where he was. He noticed an IV attached to his arm, but when he moved to pull it out, he discovered he was handcuffed to the bed railings.

"Sorry about that," a Chinese man wearing a doctor's coat said. "We weren't certain what you'd be like when you woke up.

Duncan licked his lips. "Where am I?"

"**_Hong Kong Peoples Hospital_**. You and your… partner were brought in dehydrated and in a fugue state. The hotel personnel finally broke in and with EMT help subdued you. It seemed as if the two of your were on drugs. We tested you both, however, and found nothing."

Duncan felt sweat trickle down his back. "You tested our blood?"

The doctor nodded. "Whatever caused it, we couldn't find anything in your systems. We kept you unconscious for forty-eight hours and then brought you out slowly to see what would happen.

Duncan looked around the room. "Where's?"

"She's in the next room. Again… we thought this safer."

Duncan closed his eyes and he could sense her now. Her eyes snapped open and her thoughts caressed his. Mentally he kissed her and felt her hands lightly dance over him. He let out a sigh. Amanda was safe and nearby.

"Our things?" he croaked out. His throat was still dry.

"In the hospital safe. The hotel staff was very upset by the amount of blood they found. Yet there was not a mark on either of you. Can you explain that?"

Duncan shook his head. "We were just making love." It was more than that, but he wasn't about to mention the knife.

"The local constable will want to talk to you now that you are awake. If you continue to improve, you should be out of here soon."

Duncan shook one hand so that the handcuff rattled.

The doctor smiled. "I'm sorry… those will remain for the time being. I'll have the nurse's aid bring you some water and perhaps a sponge bath."

Duncan grinned wickedly. "I'd like that."

The doctor paled. "Perhaps just the water and maybe some broth to start with." He backed thoughtfully out of the room.

Duncan relaxed back on the bed and focused on Amanda… letting her know what he knew.

_What happened to us? Methos and Eleanor didn't say anything about this being so consuming. Nor did Robert and Gina?_ It wasn't words so much as mental images of the others that were transmitted to him.

He shook his head, _I don't know._

He could feel her next to him as if she were in the same bed, and he smiled at how comforting that felt. Duncan relaxed in the moment. The main thing now was to remain in control and be able to deal with the authorities without them discovering who he was. A small Chinese nurse's aide entered his room and he found himself licking his lips in appreciation.

_Yes!_ agreed Amanda. _She's a pretty one. I wonder if she'd like to party?_ Amanda laughed at that and Duncan leered at the young girl, fully aware that her eyes had widened at his erection under the sheet. Whatever was wrong with them… whatever was happening, Duncan MacLeod found himself truly enjoying the sensations. He wriggled his tongue at the girl as Amanda continued to laugh in his ear and then laughed as well as the girl dropped the pitcher and glass of water and ran screaming from the room.

He thought he could sense Amanda's mouth on him, her tongue moving sinuously up and down. Duncan grinned and focused on thrusting between her imagined legs. Her breath caught in her throat and then she seemed to moan. _This is fantastic! Duncan we should have done this ages ago!_ he laughed and continued to laugh as he mentally thrust into her, oblivious of the medical staff arriving and adding something to his IV. Evidently they wanted him unconscious again. Even as he drifted away… he climaxed.

-----


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Paris, 28 December 2023:**

Alisaunne wasn't at her flat. Cassandra left a hastily scribbled note stuffed through the crack under the door and sighed as she leaned against the door, wondering just where her young protégé could be. There seemed little reason for her to remain so she called the elevator and rode down on it, watching the floors go by through the grating and rubbed her head. It was strange after so long not to feel another immortal constantly grating on her senses that she felt like she was in withdrawal from something.

The years she'd spent in the communal dream with other immortals, trying to make sense of wild landscapes that would have been at home on a Salvador Dali painting had made her feel comfortable with herself and with other immortals in a way she'd never before felt. The final denouement of the dream, wherein she had to face her demons… rape at the hands of the horsemen… and along with Methos and Eleanor, strike out against the mortal who had engineered the plan in a vain hope to become immortal, had been cathartic. She'd felt at peace after that. At least until she'd begun having dreams of the grown Derrick and had slowly begun to see herself rather than Eleanor always at his side.

Was she forcing the images? Cassandra didn't think so. She and Derrick were tied together somehow in a way that she didn't yet understand. They'd be together if not for Amber Conroy. A shard of jealous anger pierced her heart. It was because of Amber that Derrick had broken free… and yet it hadn't just been Derrick. There had been the sense of someone else with him… someone old and powerful. In the wake of losing Derrick, Cassandra had begun to feel adrift as she had long ago. Her emotions were once more in flux. Her seduction of Sarah Manning had only exacerbated the problem. Part of the reason she was feeling out of sorts was that she'd broken it off too quickly in her desire to be on this trip with Derrick. Perhaps he would turn to her again. But Amber's presence likely would prohibit that. She could clearly see herself taking the young immortal's head.

By this time, the elevator had hit the ground floor and Cassandra stepped out and then paused. Closing her eyes she thought she could feel someone. She licked her lips as she concentrated and then moved back into the shadows, her small gothic broadsword in her hands and ready. She'd never been that good a fighter… but she'd never had to be. Her voice could disarm any immortal… or at least slow him down enough for her to either take his head or get away.

He was darkness personified as he stepped through the open door front door to the lobby. He was a black shadow against black night. "Who's there?" he called out.

Sweat made her grip slippery. A quickening here and now, within the lobby of Alisaunne's apartment house would call too much attention to the young woman.

"Is it you, bitch?" the voice continued.

Cassandra pitched her voice carefully. "No one you know. Put away your sword, leave this place, and never return." She had to repeat her words three times before she heard him slide the sword back into its sheath and then saw him stagger away.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and then backed away to the rear of the building and left via a fire door. She made her way up the alley between buildings and paused at the street. No one was around. Cassandra's hands were trembling and her stomach turned butterflies. It was always dicey using the voice that way to control an immortal. Some of the stronger ones could break free suddenly. Kronos had been immune, Methos as well. Even Duncan had been too strong for her. And while she'd initially controlled Derrick, he too had broken free of her. But this one seemed to have left the area.

Cassandra stepped out onto the sidewalk and swiftly made way back to the hidden grove. She could feel Derrick and Amber as she entered the covered archway, and then she felt someone else with them. Reaching the gate, she gave it a rattle.

Derrick appeared a few moments later and unlocked it.

"Alisaunne wasn't home."

"I know. She showed up here," he replied, locking the gate behind her. His voice sounded taut and Cassandra wondered what had happened. He took her elbow and led her into the dark grove. The screening above made what little light in the night sky seem even less.

"Cass!" exclaimed Alisaunne, throwing her arms around Cassandra in greeting. "I'm so glad you're here."

Cassandra hugged the young woman back, smiling slightly that this child of Methos and Eleanor also loved her. "You feel thin," she told her. "I don't think you are eating right."

"I eat," Alisaunne pouted. "But you're right… sometimes I lose track of time and forget to eat."

"I thought we worked on that. Are you becoming obsessive about what you do again?"

Alisaunne was silent… and she pulled away. "I'm fine… it's just that it's the holidays and I got a little maudlin. Sorry to have frightened everyone." She turned away toward the steps. "I'm going upstairs. I think I'll sleep here tonight."

Cassandra hesitated. Derrick picked up his bag and shouldered it with a shrug. He and Amber started up the steps. Cassandra set her shoulders as she followed them up the steps. They'd come to help Alisaunne. Just because she wasn't quite as bad off as the emails she'd sent would have had them believe did not mean they could all just turn around and leave. The psychic figured it would be an interesting night.

-----

Amber found the dimly lit upper room bare and cold. Mostly empty shelves, with only a few books on them lined the white-plastered walls. In the corners she saw dark patches of moisture. This building was old… very old. A window with heavy panes of leaded glass evidently looked out onto the street. It was too dark to see much out there and Alisaunne quickly covered the glass with heavy dark curtains

"Have you eaten? I really don't have much here," the young woman said turning back to them.

"We're fine… ate on the plane," Derrick replied with a smile. Amber's stomach growled slightly. Well they'd eaten some time ago and she wouldn't turn her nose up at much of anything… except maybe sardines.

Alisaunne evidently heard the rumble and laughed. "That's what I though." She passed through them to the small kitchenette and busied herself pulling raw veggies, cheese, hummus, and fruit from the small icebox and then crackers, hard rolls and peanut butter from a cabinet over the small sink. "This should help," she grinned.

It did. The hummus was spicy and something Amber had never tried before.

"I learned to love it when we lived in Tunisia for so long, when I was training," Alisaunne explained with a shrug. "I make it myself."

"It's delicious," Amber said a bit shyly. She was still trying to figure the girl out and her obvious fondness for Derrick. Amber was also curious about why everyone on the island had been so worried about this girl… who while a bit strange… seemed perfectly all right. Even her obvious joy at seeing Cassandra did not sour Amber's opinion of her. She figured that there were things going on here that she was not a party to, but might learn if she remained mum and observant.

For instance, Amber wondered about what had happened, or almost happened in the grove below between Derrick and her. It had been strangely compelling… and although they were passionate lovers on their own… this had been something else entirely. It seemed as if they were participants in some sort of ceremony and sacrifice. She could have sworn she'd heard chanting urging them on. She still had goose bumps when she recalled it and shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" Alisaunne asked. "I have a small space heater that I can turn on. There's no real source of heat up here other than that."

"I'm fine," Amber said as Derrick slung an arm around her and massaged her arms.

"So… which hotel?" Alisaunne said returning to other conversation.

"I thought we'd just camp out here. The floor in here is very comfortable as I recall," Derrick said with a grin. His hand still moved up and down Amber's arm.

"I have a full-sized bed now," Alisaunne said, turning to Cassandra. "You could sleep in there with me if you wished. It's bound to be warmer and more comfortable than the floor."

Cassandra delicately ate a carrot stick. She smiled. "Thank you… that might be for the best." She met Amber's gaze and then looked away guiltily. Amber's eyes narrowed slightly as she wondered what game the psychic was playing. She also wondered what would have happened if it had been Cassandra with Derrick in the grove below earlier. She dipped another piece of bread into the hummus and chewed thoughtfully.

After they'd eaten, Alisaunne handed Derrick some blankets from a wardrobe and a couple of extra pillows from her bed. "These should help," she said with a smile. Then she sobered and touched the side of his face. "Thank you for coming. I've been so lonely lately. We need to talk."

"Tomorrow," Derrick promised her, squeezing her hand in his and then kissing it. Amber felt pangs of jealousy.

After the door to the bedroom closed shutting Cassandra and Alisaunne off from then, Amber touched Derrick's arms as he was spreading the blankets and making a pallet. "Just how well do you know her?"

Derrick sat back on his haunches and shrugged. "Not very. I met her when I was a boy. As I said… something happened to her that upset Eleanor deeply… but then Eleanor was nearly killed by Cassandra…" his voice trailed off and he glanced at the door. "Oh… I don't think I told you that part."

Amber crossed her legs as she settled on to the blankets. "No… ya didn't."

"Well… Cassandra was angry with Adam… I may have told you that part. She wanted to hurt him and so she tried to kill Eleanor. Adam was devastated. Eleanor has never healed well from wounds. She's never been a frequent fighter. Anyway… Adam took us to Scotland. I didn't see Ali again until she was immortal. She found her way here while we were staying here and…" again he shrugged. "Eleanor and she became very close."

Amber sighed. There was something he wasn't telling her. She had a feeling that something had happened to the girl and there was some guilt in Derrick's voice about whatever it was. She hoped he would tell her.

Derrick chuckled as he stretched out on the blankets next to her. "I slept here as a boy… right on this floor… is this very spot if I'm not mistaken." He pulled her into his arms.

"I knew ya were a mistreated child. You and sleeping on the floor," she teased and settled against him. "But I kind of like the way ya make me feel," she laughed. He kissed her lightly and then the two of them settled down to sleep. She was relieved that whatever had possessed him earlier had faded. She hoped he'd sleep well… and that memories of his time here years ago would not bother him this night.

-----

In the inner room, Cassandra noticed that Alisaunne had added a full-sized modern bed. She changed into a nightgown and lay down next to her student, facing her rather than the curtained window. The room wasn't as bare as it had been. Alisaunne had added little touches of color here and there. Yet there was little in the room that spoke of who she truly was.

"I missed having you to talk to," the girl said.

"And I missed seeing you. But there were others I needed to help and things only I could do," Cassandra replied.

"Your visions of the future," Alisaunne said.

Cassandra nodded. "The future is sometimes as clear as looking through a pane of glass and other times it's fogged up and no matter how I try, I can't see anything clearly. I do know that as long as I follow Derrick… and protect him… the world of immortals will change for the better. But death searches for him as it evidently once searched for Methos. Immortals will come to claim his head. But he will no longer listen to me."

"Why not?"

Cassandra smiled and shook her head, the small laugh caught in her throat. "He doesn't quite trust me."

"Because you and Methos were enemies once?"

Cassandra reached out and brushed some of the curls from Alisaunne's face. "That was long time ago. It took a great deal for me to let go of that hatred. I have, you know. I only want the best for him and Eleanor. I wouldn't try to hurt them.

Alisaunne chuckled and rolled onto her back, staring at the darkened ceiling. "Now why do I think you're hiding something."

Cassandra rolled over to face the window. "We all hide things." She closed her eyes and shifted deeper under the covers. She smiled in the darkness when Alisaunne curled up against her to sleep.

-----

Early the following morning, Derrick left the three sleeping women alone and headed out of the grove and into the city. He was still the one unknown to the Watchers except for Joe Dawson, and he knew he could move about the city more easily. Besides, it would give the women a chance to kick back and get to know one another without his watchful eye. Hopefully Alisaunne would open up to Cassandra and tell her what she was still hiding. The sounds of drums and chants had filled his overnight dreams, and he'd needed to get away from them so that he could think clearly.

He leaned on the balustrade of the _Pont Neuf_, and stared at the façade of _Les Palais de Justice_ on the _isle de la cite_. His boyhood memories of his tour of the city with Phillip were colored with older memories that he saw with another's eyes. He sighed thoughtfully. Paris held too many memories for him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the sounds of another day. Despite his offer to do so, he didn't know if he dared take Alisaunne's place here. His entire body seemed to reject that avenue.

Turning swiftly and striding to the Right Bank, he fingered the slip of paper in his pocket. Eleanor had written down Joe Dawson's address and had suggested that he go to see him if he had the chance.

"I know he'd love to see you. He'll keep your secret," she'd told him confidentially. Maybe she was right. Joe was older, he was mortal, and he was a Watcher with centuries of information at his fingertips. Maybe he could answer questions about Darius that Derrick hadn't wanted to ask Eleanor, Methos or Phillip. If he were to remain in Paris, he needed to know what he was getting into.

-----

The detritus of the Christmas tree littered the living room. Dawson had carefully removed everything from the live evergreen that his mother wanted to plant in the garden out back. Abigail, as usual, was nowhere around. His twin always volunteered "them" to do something and then conveniently found something else to do. Of course her "other" commitments were always accepted and even condoned by his parents. She was their social butterfly… the popular one, the gifted one. He was just the other one… smart, solitary, and a bit sarcastic. He would rather sit in his room and read or play video games than "hang-out" with friends. And sports definitely weren't anything he was interested in! Abigail liked music and shopping. She was smart too… they were currently ranked third and fifth in their class.

Hearing the doorbell ring, he hung several of the garlands he was working on about his neck and called out that he'd get it. Upon opening the door he saw a tall, tan, bleached-blonde young man wearing a suede coat. The man's back was to Dawson; he was turned to stare out toward the street. He turned as Dawson opened his mouth to find out what he wanted.

"Is Joe Dawson here?" the young man asked. "Tell him it's Derrick Foster.

Dawson was accustomed to strangers who worked with his mom and dad showing up at the door to see them or his granddad. The easy English of the stranger confused Dawson a moment as he'd been thinking in French. "Uh yeah… wait here a moment." He closed the door, and headed for his grandfather's study.

Joe Dawson was looking over some records that Madeline LeSeur had just finished transcribing. Dawson grinned to see his granddad's blonde secretary and felt a physical response when she favored him with her dazzling smile.

"Uh… Granddad? Some guy called Derrick Foster's here to see you." He was startled by his grandfather's look of surprise and then eagerness.

"Get him in here!" barked Joe.

Dawson did so, curious as to just who this young man was. By the time he'd led him into the study, his granddad was halfway across the room in his motorized chair. "You're a sight for sore eyes boy." He raised his arms and Foster knelt and returned the hug. Dawson thought he could see tears in his grandfather's eyes.

"Does Ellie know where you are? She and Adam have been worried sick since last summer."

Foster smiled. "They know. Ellie wanted me to stop off and see you."

Joe wiped at his eyes and then looked up at his grandson and secretary. "Derrick's the son of an old friend." He turned back to Foster and gave him the once-over. You've grown up Derrick my boy."

"Thanks to you," Foster said and then glanced at Dawson. "Your grandfather saved my life when I was a boy."

"Took a bullet for you. Glad to do it," Joe snorted. "Madeline, get us some fresh coffee and croissants would you. Here have a seat Derrick and tell me what you've been up to. Dawson… have you finished with that tree yet?"

Dawson watched Madeline leave, a puppy-dog expression on his face. "Uh… tree. Right." He turned to leave and shut the door behind him.

"He's usually more expressive. Madeline tends to tongue-tie him though," Joe laughed as the door shut. "Let me just look at you. You look healthy… but then you would."

Derrick shrugged with a smile. "That seems to be a part of what happens."

"The tan and the hair threw me a moment."

"Life on a boat in the tropics," Derrick explained simply.

"Was that where you were? No wonder they couldn't find you. Adam was all over the States looking for you. How are they? Ellie called me a few weeks ago. She didn't mention you."

"I only arrived on Niebos just before Christmas."

"How did you know about that place?"

"Phillip used to tell me about his home. I figured if I found it, he'd know how to reach Ellie and Adam. He'd shown me on a map once where it was. The rebuilding and clean-up from the _tsunami_ is going well."

"Yeah… that was a worrisome few days for me… stuck here. I want to visit there one day… but explaining to Amy… my daughter… that I want to vacation alone in Greece is a bit of a problem.

"I remember her. I take it she doesn't know about Niebos?"

"She knows about Adam and who he is. She knows about Ellie. But she's not in the loop about Niebos and the Watcher in residence. I could have taken the job. Hell I'd love to! But I don't want to leave her… or the kids."

Derrick grinned widely as he glanced toward the door. "I remember being that age. Girls were something daunting and a bit scary to me."

"I take it they aren't anymore?"

Derrick shrugged. "I have a girlfriend. She's my anchor." He reached into his pocket and handed a wrapped present to the elderly Watcher. "Ellie asked me to give you this."

Joe took it soberly, almost reverently. He removed the gaily-decorated tissue paper and stared at the framed photograph of Adam, Ellie and Phillip. "I didn't think they took pictures… fear of them falling into the wrong hands."

"She said she trusted you," Derrick explained, "and that you'd know how to keep it safe."

Joe nodded, letting his fingers drift over the three faces. They paused on Ellie's and he recalled a time when he was closer to Dawson's age than Derrick. "She made me want to live again," he said softly, fighting back a sob for a life they'd never had. After a moment, he placed the framed photo in the side of his chair and sniffed before wiping his eyes. By the time Madeline had returned with a tray, he was grinning broadly, the jovial host once more.

As she poured the coffee, Madeline smiled warmly at Derrick… who for his part, other than just being polite, seemed oblivious to her. Joe almost chuckled. For once, the shoe seemed to be on the other foot. Derrick was the first man Madeline had met here in recent months that she'd been interested in… and he seemed to be the one man uninterested in her.

Joe asked about Derrick's recent jobs while they settled in and listened attentively to Derrick's description of life and work on an ocean oil platform. Madeline was clearly enthralled. Joe let things go on a bit and then asked Madeline to clear things away. "We'll get back to work later today," he said.

She gave him a curious look and then shrugged and left; Derrick opened the door for her and then closed it tightly. "She doesn't know about us does she?"

"She's a Watcher. She knows about immortals, but about you? No. Now then… you didn't come here just to hand deliver a photograph that could have been mailed. Why are you here?"

"I need to know more about Darius. Who he was before he came to Paris. Who he was here."

"You could asked Phillip, Adam or Ellie about that," observed Joe.

"I could… but what they tell me is a version as seen through their eyes. I need the objective one."

"Why is that?"

"I need to understand him. I need to know more about the lives he led when he wasn't around them."

"You likely know more than any of us," Joe said tentatively.

Derrick looked up and met the Watcher's gaze. He nodded. "But what I know is flashes of memory of events… most of which I've forgotten. I need to know him… so I know what it is I need to do."

Joe tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. "I only met him once."

Derrick stared at him and Joe saw the young man's eyes glaze over momentarily and then blink it away. "Easter Sunday 1983."

Joe nodded.

"He knew you were a Watcher and found it amusing."

"Evidently," Joe said. "My memory of it was that he was one helluva preacher. His sermon on the need in our lives to experience a resurrection of hope and peace was powerful."

Derrick stared at the floor, leaning on his thighs and holding his hands together lightly, the fingers interlaced. "I only recall that moment… nothing else about that day."

"And maybe only because you know me," Joe added softly. He reached forward to clasp Derrick's arm encouragingly.

The young man smiled wistfully. "What am I?"

"You're your own man. You have your own life to live and your own way to handle what's happened to you."

"Am I? Am I my own man or am I only Darius reincarnated."

"You don't really look like him," smirked Joe. As if suddenly making up his mind, he toggled his motor and headed for the computer on the desk. He opened a drawer, pulled out something that looked like an old-fashioned cellphone and booted up a file on the computer. Then he made a copy of it, downloading it into the smaller machine. Finished, he turned and handed it to Derrick.

"It's a ROM file reader for a Watcher in the field. It's as complete a record as exists, as seen through the eyes of nearly two thousand mortals. It's the best I can do."

"Won't you get into trouble giving me all this?"

Joe smiled. "Only if someone finds out." He winked and chuckled, "But then who would tell them… you? Let's just say that even as Ellie trusts me with that photo, I trust you with the chronicle."

Derrick pushed a few of the tiny buttons on the keypad and, satisfied he knew how to operate it, closed it and put it into his coat pocket. Hopefully he'd find answers there. At least, it was the first step.

-----


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

**Paris, the grove, 29 December 2023:**

Cassandra awoke with the filtered sunlight from around the drapes, hitting her eyes. She stretched and then realized that she was alone. Not only that, she couldn't clearly sense one of the others. Rising, she pulled on her discarded clothes and opened the thick wooden door to the other room. It too was empty, but in stepping into it, she could more clearly sense an immortal below in the grove. She smiled. Perhaps Derrick had taken Amber for a walk. That would leave her time to work alone with Alisaunne and be certain that the fevered emails she'd sent to Eleanor were not a sign of anything more than her wanting attention.

With a smile plastered on her face, Cassandra opened the door to the grove and began to descend the stairs. She ran her fingers through her tangled mane of hair, wishing she'd taken the time to comb it. She'd come down only a few steps when she realized Amber was below in the grove and it was Alisaunne that was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Derrick here.

"Where is everyone?" she asked pleasantly, continuing her descent. She could hear the water bubbling in the spring and rubbed her arms. It was chilly out here without a coat.

Amber watched her descend warily and then shrugged. "Derrick said something about seeing the sights… but I was half asleep. He was gone when I woke up. Alisaunne left about fifteen minutes ago to get some food for brunch. She said she'd be right back."

Cassandra sighed worriedly. "Derrick shouldn't be out alone. He's still so young. He has no idea how predatory some of the older immortals can be."

"He's better with a sword than I am," Amber said with a smirk. "And I dare say he's better than you are."

Cassandra shifted slightly. "Yes… well… skill is one thing."

"He's killed two of us. He knows what ta do," the younger woman insisted.

Cassandra knew that was so… but she didn't like him being gone. When she couldn't control access to him… the wheel of possible futures spun at an alarming rate and his premature death still consumed her. She had to protect him! "You should have insisted on going with him." The words weren't what she truly felt, but were a compromise designed not to upset Amber.

Evidently Amber wasn't fooled. She glared at Cassandra and then looked away. "I'd think ya'd be more worried about yar student."

"She's not my student so much as someone who also has some psychic powers and has to learn to control them," Cassandra insisted. "Besides," she continued as she took a seat on the stones next to Amber, "Alisaunne is more than capable of handling herself. She's quite good… the best of all of Duncan MacLeod's students."

"Duncan MacLeod? That's the one Derrick talked about wanting to see. I think he was disappointed that he wasn't on the island. He mentioned he was worried about him."

Cassandra said nothing. Duncan MacLeod had been paramount to the future she'd once seen. She'd protected him as a boy, loved him as a man, and felt betrayed by him that he'd once protected Methos from her. Between them, there were still feelings best left unexplored. She could still taste his kisses and feel his touch, even after nearly thirty years. He hadn't been the love of her life… but he'd been one of the top few. She'd known, after his betrayal, that she couldn't control him or influence him. Her voice seemed to have lost that ability on him. It didn't work on Methos or his "brothers" either. She'd begun to think she'd lost the ability… and perhaps she had for a time… just as she'd lost the ability to see a future until she'd met the boy Derrick. Even now, all the futures she saw for herself involved him.

"MacLeod," Amber continued on musing slightly. "He was another of Connor's students. He killed him. I always wanted to know why."

Cassandra straightened as she gazed at Amber. "I'd forgotten you were Connor's student," she said thoughtfully.

"Aye… one of his last ones I gather. He didn't take to too many of us unless he saw the need to pass on what he knew. I was the daughter of a friend… I suppose he always felt protective of me. He said he didn't like to get close to students bein' as our kind kill one another… but he cared about Duncan. He often spoke of him as his 'true brother'. When I heard that he'd been killed, and by whom, I felt as if I'd been jabbed in the heart by a blade and was slowly dyin'."

"Really," mused Cassandra thoughtfully. Sensing Alisaunne's imminent return, Cassandra filed the information Amber had just given her for a future time. Perhaps there was a way to use that in the future to drive a wedge between Derrick and Amber. All of her visions still seemed to indicate that Derrick would die suddenly and unexpectedly if Amber remained in his life, but he had indicated he would not listen to Cassandra if she persisted in telling him that. Perhaps it was time to try a different tactic.

-----

After lunch, Amber remained upstairs while Alisaunne and Cassandra returned to the grove to talk. She'd folded the blankets and stacked them and the pillows in a corner. Turning about with boredom as to what to do next to occupy herself until Derrick returned, she flipped through some of the books while she peered out the window. Her attention only half on the words on the page and more on the sight of the scaffolded church across the street

Something in one of the books caught her eye as she flipped the pages… something drawn on the corners of the pages that gave her a sense of unreality and nausea. She hadn't felt true nausea in over two hundred years… but as soon as it happened… she knew.

Bending over and swallowing her gorge, she dropped the old leather-bound book onto the desk while she regained physical control. Amber felt as if she'd stepped through a door and seen something she was never meant to see. Finally, calm once more, she picked up the book and idly opened it to see what it was about. It seemed to be journal written in spidery handwriting. On some of the pages were symbols that seemed oddly familiar. On others, she found drawings of people, places and things… odd carvings similar to what she'd glimpsed on Phillip's floor. As she peered carefully at page after page… she saw nothing that bothered her the way that idle flip through the pages had. Maybe it was a trick of the eye… some random mark that had caused it. Whatever it was, seemed innocuous now.

She replaced the book on the shelf and stared out the window. "Whar are ya Derrick? What's happened to ya?" she mused as she stared. Seeing nothing interesting, she shrugged and headed for the stairs, where she sat watching Cassandra working with Alisaunne on relaxation and focusing techniques.

-----

After leaving Joe's, Derrick returned to the oldest section of Paris, but instead of the grove, he chose to wander about the spacious grounds of _St. Julien les Pauvre_. He couldn't get into the church itself as workmen were busy there and it was blocked off. He figured that if he needed to, he could wait until dark and try slipping in somehow. He figured Alisaunne knew how. He recalled that Ellie knew a way, too.

But this was a start. He stood in the small cemetery to one side and tried to get a feel for the place. Surely Darius had spent time here. Surely some memory meant something. But nothing came to him. He pulled out the small Watcher reader and pulled up a few files dated after Darius had come here, and the church had been built. In one of the more recent ones, he found a photograph of the man whose face he'd never seen. He stared at it… and saw nothing that remotely resembled his face… even the eyes were different. After a few moments he shut it off and replaced it in his pocket. He began to wander aimlessly about the grounds. Calmly and trying not to force it, he tried to let the memories find him.

They didn't… but he slowly became aware of another immortal. He sighed. He'd learned not to stop startled… but this one felt slightly familiar for some reason. Derrick opened his eyes and turned toward the immortal… now only yards away.

"Oh…" the other said almost sadly. "For a moment I thought you were someone else."

Derrick chuckled and shrugged. "In another moment… I might have been."

"Jason Dunlap," the dark-haired immortal with the pronounced goatee said as he held out a hand.

"Derrick Foster," Derrick replied as he took it and shook it firmly.

Dunlap shoved his hands into his coat pockets after the introduction and glanced around. "There used to be a priest here. One of us."

Derrick smiled. "Before my time."

Dunlap nodded and looked around. "I'm glad to see the mortals wanting to fix this place up. Too often the old buildings just get bull-dozed to the ground to make way for steel and glass monstrosities."

"I guess the Parisians have a sense of history," chuckled Derrick.

"Yeah. By the way… have you seen or felt one of us in the area… a woman?"

Derrick shrugged. "What's she done?"

"A few months ago she killed a friend of mine. I wanted to pay her back."

Derrick shook his head. "Can't help you."

"Well… it was worth a try. What do you suppose happened to the priest who lived here?"

"He died?" Derrick suggested.

Dunlap's face fell. "Too bad. He was one of the good ones. Later!" The immortal turned and headed off the grounds and onto the street. Derrick wondered if the man had been the sign he was searching for… a reason to stay. But he wasn't a priest and truly had no interest in becoming one. He waited for the immortal's presence to fade entirely… and then waited until darkness lingered in the deepening shadows of the short December day. Finally he made his way back to the grove. He had no answers… but he did feel ready to deal with being with the others again. And, patting his pocket, he had some reading to do.

-----

The three immortals were quiet over dinner. Alisaunne stirred her noodles glumly. While she was glad to have company, these weren't really the immortals she most wanted to see. As always… she felt shunted off to someone else by those she most needed to see. She sighed and laid her chopsticks down, having lost what little appetite she had.

"So is there anything you three want to do or see before leaving?" she asked hesitantly. The grove was always just her place, and having others here… even those she trusted felt odd. Maybe if only one were here the feeling of some impending doom might leave her.

"We came for you," Cassandra replied in that soothing voice of hers. "We needed to be certain you were all right."

Alisaunne closed her eyes. _All right? No! I'm not all right. _"I'm fine… really," she murmured. For a moment she heard _his_ cackling as images of slicing the psychic's throat flashed through her mind. She shuddered and opened her eyes, forcing a grim smile across her face as she faced the two women.

They felt Derrick arrive long before they heard his footsteps on the stairs. It was as if all three women let out a deep breath of relief and then eyed one another thoughtfully as he opened the door.

"Sorry," he apologized as he entered the room. "I didn't mean to be gone so long." He laughed as Amber threw herself into his arms and kissed him. He held her firmly and when he pulled away he laughed. "I see you missed me."

"Ya have no idea me boyo," she chuckled and then kissed him again.

Alisaunne blinked away tears, as a stab of envy for the young lovers hit her. She spared a thought for Ren Caulfield and then brushed it away. Ren was safer wherever he was.

Cassandra felt a knife twist in her heart. She looked away and swallowed the sob that caught in her throat. _Why doesn't he see how much more I can do for him?_ she thought. "You shouldn't wander around the city alone, Derrick. Paris has always been a gathering place for immortals."

"I met one," Derrick said as he hugged Amber and rocked back and forth.

"Did ya now?" she asked as she curled her arms about his neck. "And how was it?" She could still recall the intense lovemaking after that last quickening he'd taken in India. Already she was anticipating their time together.

"Oh we spoke and that was that," Derrick laughed. "Ali… I think he's looking for you… something about you killing a friend of his."

Alisaunne picked up her bowl of noodles with an unconcerned shrug.

"That reminds me, there was a very angry, very nasty sounding immortal at your apartment building last night," Cassandra added worriedly.

"They're around," she replied. "If they come for me, I kill them."

"Maybe 'tis time ya moved on then," Amber suggested. She'd turned in Derrick's embrace so that her back was to him; she leaned against him and laid her head against one of his arms as they surrounded her.

"Wish I could," Alisaunne said. "But I have work to do."

"Work?" Amber asked. "What work?"

A noodle drooped from Alisaunne's mouth. She slurped it up thoughtfully and glanced at Cassandra and then at Derrick. "Should I show her?" she asked the young man.

He smiled and shrugged, evidently feeling that this was something left to her discretion.

Cassandra stared at her hands. "If you think it is wise."

Alisaunne grinned. It might prove entertaining. Certainly seeing how Amber handled the trip underground through the sewer and the near crawl into the cavern might prove entertaining. She chewed thoughtfully and then sipped some of the hot, bitter tea she'd made. This could be fun!

-----

Once they were all in the cavern, Alisaunne turned off the electric torch so that they stood in an unremitting darkness that had never known daylight. With unerring hands, she found the hand-crank generator and began to wind it. Sparks flew from it and then slowly the string of light bulbs lit up and the cavern was filled with dim yellow light.

Amber gasped. "What is it?"

Alisaunne laughed. "You got me. Derrick showed it to me twelve years ago and I've been fascinated by it ever since. It's something Darius worked on translating. His journal about it is upstairs… but so far I haven't figured it out."

"Nor are you likely to," Cassandra remarked. It was an old argument between them. Still, being in the grove over the years had helped keep Alisaunne's awareness of Nestor under control. The latent sense of the two ancients whose dust was buried by the spring had seemed to protect her.

Derrick stared up at the walls, waiting for something to grab him and say, "Ah… you're back. Now it's your turn to waste fifteen hundred years staring at me." But nothing happened. He still felt no compulsion or interest… beyond a cursory one… in the markings that drifted over the walls in no particular pattern and rising to the ceiling. A few of them here and there seemed familiar in some way… but he didn't know why. Unbeknownst to him, his fingers moved back and forth over Amber's skin as she stood with him.

Amber's eyes glazed over. The memory of the journal upstairs and the shifting pattern of lines on the edges as she flipped swiftly through the pages filled her mind while at the same time, Derrick's touch seemed to make her skin flame. Certain of the markings on the walls seemed to be pronounced… larger… blacker… and then fade as others took their place. She stared around at the cavern, her stomach churning while somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear drumbeats, stomping feet, and chanting voices. The voices rose, the drums beat faster, making her heart race; she leaned against Derrick, desperately wishing they were alone here.

And then like a bolt from the blue it hit her. "It's us," she said… surprised that her thoughts were spoken.

Alisaunne and Cassandra turned toward her, matching skeptical expressions on their faces. Then Alisaunne jolted around and stared again at the symbols.

"What makes you say that," Derrick said quietly in Amber's ear. The touch of his lips, his hot breath on her all added to the feeling of unreality.

Amber swallowed. Her throat felt thick and dry. "Yar lookin' at it too close. Ya have to look at it with fresh eyes… unfocused eyes. It's somethin' felt… intuitively… not read. It's the overall look of it… not the individual marks. It's how it's all put together."

"She's right," Alisaunne said suddenly. "See… on the lowest level on all sides are identical sets of the symbols, just in different order… then they're doubled… then something happens and most are slashed through with a line… and only a few rise up the wall. More symbols… not otherwise connected to the bottom groups suddenly appear. In various combinations they obliterate one another until a group of them… _gather_… at the top. That top ring of symbols is identical to each group that was on the first level."

Alisaunne moved to the center of the cavern, staring upward at that last group. She unfocused her eyes and let the feel of it wash over her. "But where do I belong," she mourned. "Where do you or I belong Derrick? We are not a part of this… we're something outside of the game."

"I don't know," he replied. "I really don't know."

The lights dimmed and went out. In that first rush of darkness that batted against their eyes, all four saw some of the markings shimmer and seem to move. Some winked out and others continued up the wall. Then the blackness hit them fully and it might have been no more than sudden bursts of light generated from their own eyes.

Alisaunne turned on the electric torch, shining it up on her face. "I see it all now. I have to tell Meth… Adam. He has the key. He has to have the key." She smiled in the shadows and then shone the light on the entrance. "Let's go. I'm done here." Inside her she felt a chuckle from the old ancient whose quickening rested within her. It had certainly taken her long enough. But then, good things were always worth waiting for.

When they reached the grove, Cassandra and Alisaunne climbed to the rooms while Derrick pulled Amber back and waited until the others had left.

"How did you know?"

Amber pulled his face close to hers. "I don't know. It just hit me. What I do know is this… I love you… and I want you here… now." The drums still beat in her head.

Derrick smiled at her in the darkness and swiftly moved to kiss her, his hands already shifting her clothes aside. He felt her hands pulling at his belt and he knew intuitively that this time… nothing would stop them. He took her eagerly on the damp earth, while firelight and shadows seemed to flicker around them at the edge of his vision. She clung to him… answering every thrust with one of her own as the voices she couldn't quite make out… and the drums and stomping feet kept time to their passion.

-----


	22. Entr'Acte One

**_Entr'acte_ One**

_**Abbey of Ste. Anne, 1348 C.E.:**_

Plague filled the streets and darkened even the household of Rebecca Horne. Upstairs in her bedchamber, Louis St. Germaine lay dead and once more she was alone and heartbroken. How many times over the centuries had plague visited the land and robbed her of a loved one, a friend, a servant, a child she chose to raise? How many times had she sat as she was sitting now, staring at shards of crystal? "Could you have helped?" she wondered, "If you were still whole… could you have made a difference?"

The crystal lay as it always did, a mute and silent testament to a time before immortals… to something more powerful than they were. Could it have saved any of them had it remained whole? While the fingers of her left hand caressed the single crystal hanging from a cord about her neck, the fingers of her other hand rested lightly on the remaining pieces.

She could smell the bonfires in the surrounding village and taste the soot in the air. It was as if Death himself rode through the streets. Rebecca closed her eyes. She had seen death too many times over the centuries.

The first time had been in the baths of Agamemnon. She'd been taken as a girl from her home; the king, enchanted by her red-gold hair, had initiated her into womanhood. She'd been barely into her teens then. He'd set her up in his palace and visited her often, sometimes wondering why she never quickened with child and beating her when he was drunk. Some nights, he took her so many times that she feared she'd never be able to walk again.

Then he'd left on that war. She'd found a measure of peace then in the palace. No man dared touch her, and even Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife, seemed to warm to her. For ten years she had peace. Then the victorious general had returned. He'd ravished his wife first… as if to prove that no matter who she was descended from she was still his possession… and then he'd come for Xanthia… his name for her. His lust knew no bounds as he took her roughly, thrusting into her like a drunken sailor on leave. He'd bitten her breasts until they'd bled. Come morning, he'd dragged her along with him to the baths so that she could wash him.

It was there that Clytemnestra had found them and killed them both, evidently deciding it would be best to be rid of a rival as well as her husband. After all, that rival might yet quicken with child. Well Xanthia hadn't quickened and she hadn't remained dead. She'd been found and hidden by the scholar Aganesthes and then spirited out of the palace and to his home in Tiryns. He'd explained immortality to her… and together with his other pupil, a Trojan named Tjanifer, he'd trained them both to survive.

"There will come others who do not understand the gifts we have. They are like us… but they will take your head and your power. They are to be pitied for they have lost their way. Do not seek them out to kill them… but protect who and what you are. Find and train others as I have found and trained you."

He'd kissed them both and set them on the road to the future.

Xanthia had used what she knew and had wandered the lands of Greece for centuries. She had settled for a time in Athens, becoming a _hegira_… a courtesan of the highest rank. That thought took her back to another plague… another dead lover… and the crystal.

_**Athens, 429 B.C.E:**_

Aspasia remained stoic, a slim column of graciousness and beauty as the dead body of Pericles was carried from her home. The plague had struck even the city's dictator. Plague was no respecter of society, wealth or power. It struck citizens from the highest to the lowest and in all walks of life. Pericles, at least, would be spared a common burial in a mass grave. Already the funeral pyre was ready and awaited his body.

Aspasia… _hegira _of Athens… lover of Pericles… and immortal could not join him there. She had no fear of the plague for herself. Nor did she have a place in the public funeral or the games that would follow Pericles' death. She would have to mourn in her own way… in silence.

She sent the slaves away… preferring to mourn by herself and not have them fluttering around her. She'd had many lovers in her four hundred years… both mortal and immortal. Aspasia… once called Xanthia smiled as she recalled the tender touch of Aganesthes who taught her the true partnership of male and female and not the submissive rape of man over woman that she'd endured as Agamemnon's slave. She often wondered what had happened to the ancient immortal… it had been over a century since she'd had word of him.

The brazier burned low… only glowing coals remained when she sensed the approach of an immortal… one who was even now within the walled interior courtyard open to the stars.

Aspasia drew her shortsword, as she walked to the terrace… ready to do battle if necessary. She'd killed before… she hated it… but if they came for her head… they died.

The Mycenaean beauty was taken aback that no warrior stood beating his chest and calling her to battle… only a woman sat on the edge of the reflecting pool and gazed at the stars she saw there. One strong pale hand dipped into the water, cupping it, and then carrying the moisture to her lips.

"This is my home," Aspasia announced sharply. She gestured with her sword. "State your business and leave… or die. I am in no mood to entertain guests this night."

"Are you willing to fight? To die?" the woman chuckled. Aspasia noticed her low, throaty laugh… rich like honeyed nectar. She looked up at her and although it was dark, Aspasia could see the dark hair beneath the veil… the dark eyes peering out of a paler face. High cheekbones… broad low forehead… and Aspasia was frightened. For a moment she felt as mortals must feel in the presence of the gods.

"Who are you?"

"I have had many names. Like you I have lived many lives."

"Are you here for my head? I tell you this… I will not give it. You will have to fight me!"

The woman laughed again. "Someday you might learn that sacrifice is a far more powerful act than fighting to remain alive. There are truths and magic older than even we immortals. Even those of us who saw the way it was." She patted the stones next to her in invitation.

Aspasia lowered her blade, but kept it ready… just in case. She was drawn to the woman as a moth to the flame. "How did you get in here?"

"I know many things," the woman replied. "There are few locks that keep me out. Here… sit."

Aspasia found herself sitting as if she were the guest and the other the hostess. "I still don't know what to call you."

"Call me Niobe who wept for her lost children," the immortal replied. "I weep for the one I lost and for the ones I have given away."

"You've had children?" Aspasia asked her with wonder.

"Not physically of course. But there are those who are children of our hearts. Live long enough and you will know this is true. For such a child… you would sacrifice all. May you be blessed to learn it."

"So what do you want with me?"

"I bear a gift. A friend died recently and I cannot let what she carried on her person fall into just anyone's hands. It is too old and too powerful. I seek a guardian… a kindred spirit… one of us… who will keep it safe."

"What makes you think I am that person?" the _hegira_ wanted to know. "Why can you not keep it yourself?"

Niobe raised her gaze to Aspasia's and shook her head. "I have enough to watch. This is but one of several. This one has been in mortal hands for many lifetimes… but the time is coming when to openly live long life will be questioned. I would prefer that it remain in our care."

Into Aspasia's hands, Niobe placed a small bag of the finest leather… soft as butter, smooth as fine cloth. Aspasia opened it and a many faceted stone of clearest crystal fell into one hand. Aspasia felt a surge of power pass over her and then it was gone.

"It is as if it holds a quickening." She remarked.

"Perhaps it does," Niobe replied sadly.

'How old is it?"

"Older than the first immortal… that much I know." She rummaged in large, leather, carrying pouch and drew forth its twin. "This was my mother's… she who raised me." She held it aloft and Aspasia saw a rainbow of light seem to issue from the stone in a varied array of color… like bits of colored glass.

"How does it do that?"

Niobe laughed. Again Aspasia thought of honey, even smelling it now that she was near the other woman. Her dark robes reeked of the scent as if it were a spice that had been sifted through the cloth. "Hold it and see if it speaks to you."

It didn't. Aspasia didn't even get the feel of a quickening. She handed it back and peered into the other one… seeing nothing but feeling power just out of reach. She licked her lips. "What I wouldn't give to possess that power."

Niobe sighed and the sigh pierced Aspasia's heart as if it had been a dagger. "Perhaps even you would fight to possess it. I thought perhaps you could give it away."

"You just spoke of my protecting it. How can I give it away if I am to protect it?"

Niobe smiled. "By giving some of it to all those you teach."

"That would destroy it!"

Again Niobe laughed. "Would it? I doubt even the finest blade made by man could hurt that crystal. But love? Against love and sacrifice… it is vulnerable.

"How?"

Niobe leaned closer and delicately rubbed a finger along the crystal's surface, finally seeming to find that for which she was searching. She gripped it and pulled. A single wedge of crystal was withdrawn from the stone, which then seemed to lose its smooth shape and become a handful of similar wedges… tinkling as they collapsed in Aspasia's hand.

Niobe pulled a leather thong from her pouch and tied it around one end of the crystal shard and then hung it about Aspasia's neck. "The keystone of the crystal. The remainder will rest… holding quietly what they have independently wherever you place them. Only when all are one, will the power again be unleashed."

Aspasia fingered the crystal and then laughed. "In the end there will be one?"

Niobe gently touched Aspasia's cheek. "If you say so." Then she pulled her hand back and reached for her stout staff to rise.

"There is so much you can teach me," Aspasia begged. "Stay with me."

Niobe shook her head. "My place is with those who are as yet only small ones awaiting the time of change. I must guard the children that are to come. I must keep them safe. Those who are the undying ones have no need of my help… no need of my wisdom. I have slaughtered too many of them over the millennia. I seek to find another path. It is my atonement."

She had risen by this time and leaned on her staff like someone ready for a long trek through rough lands. She set her shoulders and momentarily closed her eyes. Then she gave a curt nod. "Goodbye Xanthia of the golden hair. May you find love again." Then she strode purposely away, vanishing through the small service door at the back of the courtyard.

Aspasia fingered the crystal about her neck and then stared at the other segments laying in her other hand. She smiled and wrapped them up. "Give them away," she laughed. "Am I to be like Aganesthes then? Am I to teach young ones?" Her heart told her it was so.

Rebecca Horne stirred as the memory flowed over her. She rubbed her pensive brow and rewrapped the shards of crystal. There was no use pining over something that could never be. She still had five pieces to give away, having given four already. The tenth still hung at her neck. Occasionally she replaced the thong… sometimes it was silken cord she used. The crystal usually hung unseen beneath her clothes.

"Child of my heart," she laughed as she replaced the crystals in the small wooden chest. She'd thought of Amanda, that irrepressible young student she'd given one piece to almost five hundred years ago. The thought of Amanda made her laugh. At five hundred, Amanda was much more a spoiled and petulant child than Rebecca was at four hundred. Perhaps it was because Amanda approached life and immortality as a gay adventure, while Rebecca had learned early on that it was a trial and a responsibility. She'd never been able to teach Amanda responsibility.

She held her segment of crystal between her hands and closed her eyes, as she continued to think of Amanda. "If you would ever learn responsibility, dearest child," she whispered to the memory… "I would give you all."

At a loud knock to the abbey's door, Rebecca rose and descended the steps… already feeling an immortal.

"You cannot come in here," Rebecca heard Selene, her housekeeper saying. "This is a plague house."

"It's all right Selene… let her in," sobbed Rebecca, unable to keep her composure any longer. She held out her arms and filled them with the only other person she truly loved… the child of her heart… Amanda, whose name means worthy of love. And then she wept for all the lovers and all the children and students who'd left her far too soon while she continued… alive, and alone.

-----

_**Abbey of Ste. Anne, 1994:**_

_Before love and sacrifice… the crystals are powerless._

As Rebecca Horne cast away her sword in the grass and knelt before her former student Luther, Niobe's words returned to her. She didn't want to give up one moment of life with John Bowers, but if John were to live, then sacrifice was necessary. "You promise you'll let him live."

"I promise," Luther replied.

She closed her eyes and focused on Amanda's face. Luther ripped the crystal from her throat, and Rebecca fought not to smile.

_Sometimes sacrifice is preferable to living on. Sometimes… it is all that matters._

Rebecca took in a deep but calm breath as she heard Luther intone, "There can be only one." Again she fought the smile, _From many, one shall be born._

The sword kissed her neck and she knew nothing else, but she thought for a moment that she smelled honey and heard the sound of gentle laughter. "_Well done child. Well done_."

-----


	23. 2 Something Older Than Immortals, Ch 21

**Part Two: _Something Older than Immortals_**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Niebos, Greece, 31 December 2023:**

J.D. pocketed some of the fresh fruit from the buffet, several slices of bacon wrapped in dry toast, and then slipped out of the silent villa. He ran along the path to the village and down onto the dock, where he sat on the edge, his feet hung over the side as he nibbled on the food and watched the sunrise.

It had been a strange couple of days at home. His mom spent most of her time in the bedroom she shared with his father… and when she did emerge, her eyes were red. She was clearly crying a lot. His dad was either in there with her… he could sometimes hear them talking… or he was closeted in Phillip's study and J.D. could hear them arguing as well. Something had happened and none of them were very happy about it. He felt it better to be out of the house and on his own.

He glanced up as the trio of young-looking immortals… bikers he thought… strolled laughingly along the stone dock. The girl was in the center and hanging onto the two guys. Neither of them seemed to mind. J.D. glared at them a moment and then looked away, continuing to nibble on his bacon and toast sandwiches.

"Hi there cutie," the girl said, crouching next to him. She ruffled a hand in his dark hair. He shook it off and patted his hair down again while she laughed.

"One day you'll love girls to do that," she teased and then rose as the three of them linked arms and laughingly continued along the dock. "Cheerio, love!" she called back to him. He watched them go and then returned to contemplating the waves at his feet. When he'd finished, he rose and wandered along the white sand beaches to examine what the tide had deposited during the night. Deep within his heart, he still hoped to find some sign of his lost friend… the immortal boy Chou who'd died so that J.D. might live. The boy wanted to save his friend somehow… he wanted to return the favor.

He was prodding a pile of seaweed when Denis and Kenny finally found him. He grinned back over his shoulder at his two friends.

"Find anything?" Denis asked. Kenny of course said nothing. His ability to communicate remained non-existent. The other two worked with him most days… but so far… Kenny had made no progress. Instead, he regarded both with slitted eyes and a sour expression most of the time. Denis had once said that Kenny didn't get along with the small ones. "We don't trust him," Denis had explained with a shrug.

But J.D. also owed his life to Kenny. As he'd told his mom over and over since that autumn day, Kenny had been there for him in a way no one else had been.

J.D. smiled at the two and shrugged. "Same old… same old." He tossed the piece of driftwood away and rose. "What do we do today?"

Denis grinned wickedly. "Same thing we do every day," he smirked with a mischievous twinkle.

Together the boys linked arms while J.D. and Denis crowed the refrain, "Try to take over the world!" It was something from an old television show that Chou and Denis had told J.D. about years ago. Something about white mice. They headed toward the interior of the island for the day's explorations.

-----

Methos slowly opened the bedroom door, fearing to awaken Eleanor. He juggled the breakfast tray in his hands and then smiled as he saw her sitting on the chaise lounge near the open French doors of the balcony. Although the room was still in morning shadow, a ray of sun had found her and for a moment he recalled why Darius had called her Eleanor… "Lady of Light". "I brought you some coffee, fruit and scones," he said lamely.

Eleanor glanced up at him with dull, uninterested eyes and then returned to her contemplation of the view through the open doors.

He set the tray on the small table at her elbow and then sat on the foot of the lounge. "Talk to me," he finally said after a long moment of further silence. "Tell be what really happened the other night. It wasn't just swimming from the cove."

"You'd know if you didn't have that wall up all the time," she said listlessly. The aroma of the coffee, however made her stir and she poured a cup before sitting back, holding it in both hands and inhaling it as if it were a lifeline. Then she began to sip.

Methos rested a hand on one of her legs; bare beneath the red silk kimono she was wearing. He'd bought that for her in Japan last year for Christmas. It featured green dragons coiling on the red silk. "I know you seldom wear red… but it's Christmas," he'd laughed. She'd loved it. She'd loved him. He wondered if she still did. Touching her leg made him think of the drums again. He snatched it away guiltily… still wondering what that memory meant.

Eleanor reacted to his movement; reaching down to cover her legs and draw them further from him. She returned to her silent reverie of the landscape as if he weren't even here.

"Cassandra called earlier. She wants to bring Alisaunne here. She thinks it's time that Alisaunne confronts Nestor," he said a bit more brusquely than he intended.

That got her attention. She met his gaze with something that seemed to move between joy and fear. She bit her lip. "Will Derrick be staying in Paris then?"

Methos shrugged. "She didn't say. Why would he?"

She turned back to the view again. He could see tears trailing from her green eyes.

"Tell me what's going on!"

"Is Sarah back?"

Methos sighed. "I assume so. Surely this isn't about her. I've told you… I have no interest in the woman!"

"You should talk to her."

"She's involved with Cassandra right now… surely she's not still holding out hope that I'll jump into her bed?"

"You obviously haven't seen what I've seen."

Methos slapped his thighs angrily as he rose and began pacing. "This is ridiculous! You're creating a problem where none exists!"

"Then why have you been shutting me out since she got here!" Eleanor replied angrily. "What have you to hide?"

Methos stopped still and turned to her. "And what are you hiding?" he said calmly.

She rubbed her forehead. "Nothing."

"It has nothing to do with Sarah," he explained.

"Then what?" she pleaded. "Why draw away from me? Why erect barriers or partial barriers? Why keep me out? We spent a thousand years learning to trust one another. Why end it now?"

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. "I've done something."

"And that would make me love you less? You forget, I've ridden with you and the other horsemen… I've killed and slaughtered with you in your memories and I've never judged. I've even lain with you and all those other women and I'm not jealous!"

He turned away. Guilt, so long not a part of who he was had found him again. "I don't know how to explain."

He heard the rustle of silk and the clatter of the coffee cup as she sat up and set it on the tray. "Enlighten me."

He turned toward her and let out a deep breath. "I don't think I can truly explain or show you. It's… something I discovered one night quite by accident."

"Oh?"

"You were asleep… you never woke up."

She shrugged.

"And I keep exploring it… night after night."

She rose. "You are not making any sense."

"It's in the patterns. You know how you see my memories through my eyes and I see yours through yours?"

She nodded.

"I found one where I'm making love to you… I know it's us… but I'm in my own body. It's dark… I can't see… but I'm me and you are you. I'd know the feel of you anywhere… even in the dark."

"Egypt… beneath the pyramid, remember? It was dark."

Methos shook his head. "Didn't you hear me? I wasn't seeing or experiencing this through you… but through me."

"Show me," she said quietly stepping closer to him. "Open your mind and show me."

"It's so intense… it seems real… imminent… and I feel like I'm raping you without your permission."

She untied the kimono and its soft red, silk folds fell softly open revealing her nude body. She reached to touch his neck, fingering the small white scars. "Show me," she whispered. "I give you permission."

He touched one breast thoughtfully, plumping the nipple between thumb and forefinger. "I don't know if I can," he said with thickened voice. "Even the other night… we weren't truly open with one another."

"I will if you will," she replied. Then she laughed lightly. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He leaned down to kiss her and then knelt before her, rubbing his nose against her flat abdomen and breathing in the musky smell of her. Her hands were still on his neck… unity wanted to flare. He put his hands on her slim hips and ran his tongue lightly over "choice". He shuddered a moment, dropped his walls, and felt her flowing into him… he saw her anger with Sarah and how she'd beaten her to death. He heard Sarah's accusations about Eleanor's feelings concerning Derrick and knew Eleanor's own self-examination of that fact… and then he traced "betrayal" atop "choice".

-----

Grace was bundling up Hope when she heard someone shout her name. She lifted Hope into her arms and opened the door.

Again the cry!

Stepping into the hallway, she tried to get a feel for who it was. Other than a male voice, she wasn't certain. On the main floor she noticed Phillip looking upstairs with concern.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Who is it?"

The cry came again.

"I think it's Methos. He's with Eleanor!" Phillip took the stairs swiftly… two at a time as Grace headed down the hallway. Passing Sarah Manning, she handed the baby to her and continued on her way. Grace had a feeling she'd need both hands.

She knocked on the door and then opened it.

Methos was leaning over the bed; a convulsing Eleanor was on it. "What the hell?" Grace managed and then rushed in to help him restrain her. "What happened?"

"I'm not certain," he said.

Eleanor's mostly nude body arched upward; her eyes were turned so that the whites showed; her hands twisted in the bed-sheets and she was foaming at the mouth.

"What have you done to her?" screamed Phillip. He launched himself at Methos, gathering the ancient's shirt into his fists and propelling him away from the bed. "I warned you if you ever hurt her…" he snarled. The two men hit the dressing table and glass and a lamp went crashing to the floor while they pounded on one another.

"Stop it!" yelled Grace. "I need your help." She glanced up at Sarah in the doorway. "Get John, Greg or Katherine. Don't just stand there! Move!"

Sarah smirked and then turned and vanished from the doorway. _I'll kill her myself if she doesn't get a move on!_ Grace thought. Moments later John arrived. He gasped at the sight and then grabbed the sheet to throw over the struggling Eleanor as he assisted Grace with holding her down.

Grace could hear Marianna crying in the hallway. The girl was watching and it frightened her.

"Adam!" Grace yelled again, hoping that this time her call would get through to the ancient immortal. He had one fist pulled back, ready to pummel Phillip's face. He stared at it, at Phillip, and then up at Grace as he stood up, mumbling apologies. Phillip snarled again but made no further threatening moves.

Methos slipped in beside Grace and brushed the hair from Eleanor's face. "Aella," he said softly and then launched into some pastiche of language that Grace didn't quite catch. Eleanor's head whipped back and forth as she continued to struggle.

"What happened to her?" Grace asked. "John… get my bag. I want to give her something."

"It won't last long," Methos said as Phillip moved to take John's place. The other man vanished for a few minutes before returning with Grace's bag.

"It doesn't have to last long… but it might be long enough to end whatever this state she's in. It's like epilepsy… something in her brain may be misfiring."

"So what were you two doing," Phillip asked. His eyes still glared at Methos.

"Exploring a memory… an old one. I'd been doing it on my own. She wanted to see it too."

"I don't understand," Grace replied. She was fumbling through the bag and then lifted a sterile hypodermic and a small bottle. She pierced the cap with the needle and withdrew some fluid. Then she tapped the needle.

"It was something old, I think. What are you giving her?"

"Just a strong sedative. Let's see what happens." Grace tapped Eleanor's arm, found the vein and inserted the needle. Nothing seemed to happen at first… but after what seemed like several minutes but was likely only seconds, her movements began to slow. Eleanor writhed upward, her back arched and then she was still. Grace opened one of her eyes. While unfocused and dilated, her pupil showed once more. Grace felt for her pulse at one wrist. "It's slowing," she said. "I think she might be coming out of it."

Methos straightened, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He was pale and clearly worried. Only then did he hear Marianna's sobs from the hallway. He cast a pleading glance at Phillip. "I'll tell you what I know… just please assure Mari that her mother's fine."

Phillip's nostrils flared as he straightened. "All right. I'll take care of Mari… but you will talk to me later." He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Eleanor shifted and murmured on the bed.

"See… she's already starting to come around," Grace said softly.

"I take it this isn't a normal part of this joining or bonding or whatever," John said gently.

Methos shook his head.

"Tell me precisely what happened," Grace insisted again. Methos' mouth worked open and shut, finally he explained briefly about the memory. "So I tried it with her awake. At first… as far as I was concerned… it was like always. I was in the dark and making love to her while someone watched. Nothing was different. Then it ended and I sat back. She was still in the memory. Then she began to convulse. I have no idea what happened."

Eleanor's hand suddenly clasped his and she drew in a breath. Her eyes opened and she looked around in terror. She sat up. "Marianna!"

"She's fine," Methos said. "Phillip is with her."

"I want to see her."

Grace shook her head. "That's not wise at the moment until we know what happened."

"I have to see her now. Marianna!!" She called out to her daughter.

Phillip opened the door, the little girl in his arms. Eleanor reached out for her and Phillip released her to her mother. The girl scrambled onto the bed and was held tightly in her mother's sobbing embrace.

"Let me look at you," Eleanor was saying. She felt the girl's arms and legs. "You're fine. You're not hurt. I love you. I love you. I love you," she mumbled over and over as she held the child and rocked her.

Grace rose and motioned the others to back away from the bed. "Watch her carefully. I want to get some blood-work too."

"Why would there be something in her blood?" Methos asked.

"I don't know… but I want to rule out something physical." She looked around. "I have to get Hope."

John stopped her. "I'll take care of Hope. You do what you need to do. If we're to chance this ourselves, we need to know what is happening."

Grace nodded. "I'll send Marianna with you. She really shouldn't be in here, but I don't want her alone."

"Very well," John said, kissing Grace's brow.

Methos sat on the bed with Eleanor and Marianna. He calmed the child, kissed Eleanor's lips and for a moment everything looked as it normally did. Then he slowly gathered Marianna up and passed her to John. The girl fought back sobs as she left, looking back at her mother and waving. Eleanor sat on the bed, kissing her fingers and then waving then at Marianna. When the door shut, she began to sob. "I thought she was dead. I thought I'd killed her."

Methos gathered her close while she continued to sob. Grace hated to interrupt. She busied about getting the necessary equipment out while Phillip paced back and forth by the window… watching the scene play out. He seemed very uneasy.

Finally Eleanor calmed and seeing the phlebotomist supplies held out an arm. "Do you think it's physical?"

"I think we need to find out," Grace said with a thin smile. She tied the rubber tourniquet around Eleanor's arm and tapped her vein. "Now make a fist." The immortal did so and Grace drew the blood she needed.

The lovers were still entwined on the bed when she and Phillip left the room.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Grace said to the obviously worried Phillip.

"I will kill him if he hurts her again," Phillip told her darkly and then stalked off. Grace rubbed her brow. She had no idea why everyone seemed so on edge these days. Shaking her head, she headed off to find John and Hope. Maybe she'd talk to Greg about it when she relieved him at the hospital.

-----


	24. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Niebos, later the same day:**

"So what exactly happened?" Greg Powers asked as he leaned against the counter in Grace's lab.

She shook her head. "I'm not really certain, but it had to do with a memory Adam found in the unity bond." She looked up hesitantly. "How much do you know about that?"

He shrugged. "Not much… just that they share memories sometimes. Why would a memory manifest itself as convulsions?"

"Perhaps because it was something that Eleanor was fighting against somehow? I don't know. I'm hoping the tests show something. John and I have been talking since Hope was born about taking the step. After all, Robert and Gina seemed to have managed it successfully." She glanced up tentatively. "Although they did have a rocky start."

"You and John? Whose idea was it?" Greg seemed a bit put out.

"It's a discussion we were both having. I know we haven't known each other that long… only about thirty years… but Hope's birth changes everything. I want us to be a real family."

Greg folded his arms across his chest. "Where does that leave me?"

Grace looked up at him and then away. "What do you mean?"

"Hope is a part of my life too."

Grace focused on the pen in her hand. After a moment she glanced up at him. "You will always be a part of Hope's life. You made her possible." Thankfully her computer pinged at that moment and she turned to check the latest results and to reset it for a second test. When she turned back to Greg he was staring at her with his dark, penetrating eyes.

"Who brought up the unity bond? You or John?"

"I don't recall… maybe it was John… why?"

He gently pulled her to her feet and inclined his head towards hers, pausing a bare inch from her mouth. Grace was never certain if she kissed him or he kissed her… but moments later they were in a passionate embrace… each one an eager participant.

His hands fumbled through her clothes, finding one of her breasts. He slipped his hand inside her bra and squeezed. Grace moaned and clutched him more tightly. The kiss ended and they rested their foreheads together, both breathing harshly. She could smell his aftershave… so different from John's.

She pulled back with a shake of her head. "I can't do this."

"You know you want to. We've been dancing around this for months." He tried to pull her back and she resisted and peeled his hands from her.

"Please don't, Greg. I care for you… but I love John."

He released her. Grace backed away reluctantly. She touched her lips, still feeling his touch and tasting him.

"If you love him… you wouldn't have kissed me," Greg said and then turned to go.

"Greg?"

He turned back and she grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him again. He embraced her, lifting her slightly into his arms. She could feel his response to her and pressed against him. He groaned and then pushed her away, holding her at arm's length.

"A passionate embrace in secret is one thing. But that's not what I want," he said thickly. "I want you openly and without a problem. I won't settle for second-best or on the side."

"I can't offer more," she replied with a sob.

Greg's eyes closed a moment and then he turned and left. Grace collapsed on the stool and began to sob. She'd wanted him. That much was certain. He was physically young and virile, handsome and intelligent. They shared many of the same interests. Why was this so hard? She straightened her clothes and pressed her legs together… knowing just how badly she had wanted him.

Nearby, Hope laughed in her crib. She stared up at the overhanging mobile of stars and rainbows, and wordlessly murmured as a breeze turned it about.

-----

Greg was halfway to the villa before he managed to fully regain control. He'd been ready to just take Grace right there on the floor… but it had seemed wrong to him. What he wanted more than anything was someone to honestly want him as much as wanted her. And Grace was still conflicted about that. If they'd gone ahead with the moment, Greg had a feeling that he and John would be headed for a showdown.

Seeing Sarah Manning ahead on the path, Greg slowed and flashed the solemn young woman a smile. She averted her eyes.

"What's wrong with you? Still missing Cassandra?" Greg blurted out. He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.

Sarah seemed startled at that and gave him the once over. She smirked and reached forward to wipe his lips. "Better watch the lipstick. That's Grace's shade."

Greg stepped back, feverishly wiping his mouth. He turned aside and headed down to the village. The _cantina_ would be open and there was a bottle of scotch there with his name on it.

-----

Sarah laughed, the first real laugh she'd had in several days as she watched the young doctor head for town. He'd looked so guilty. She filed the information away, certain she could use it to create problems between John and Grace if she wanted to. She couldn't figure out why the three of them were so close, anyway.

Sarah had been certain when she returned to the _villa_ the other night after Eleanor had bashed her rival's head in, that someone, possibly Ben would rush to her… worried about the way she looked… check her out… something. But no one had even noticed. She'd made it all the way to her room and then cleaned up before going to bed. Not even in the time since had anyone said anything or spoken more than brief words in passing. God but she hated all of them! But she hated Eleanor most of all for having what she wanted. The bitch wouldn't step aside! Did she want all of the men? Sarah continued her walk. She'd been lying around too long. It was time to get back into fighting shape. True, she had no weapon… but there were other ways she could fight. She stepped up her speed and was soon jogging along easily.

As Sarah crested a small hill, she noted the three boys… rather… the two immortals and the pre-immortal sitting on some rocks at the side of the path. She'd never met physically young immortals before. She'd been under the impression that they were easy marks and easily killed. She'd heard of them, of course. Evidently these two had discovered this place and were hiding out here, but she failed to understand why the two of them would spend time with the other boy. She slowed her pace as she reached them, wondering just what kind of mischief she could create.

The three were slinging small rocks at a group of boulders… crowing if they hit the target dead center. The mute boy looked up at her as she approached and for an instant, seemed to leer at her with an age-old expression. Then his face seemed to change so that he seemed once more a cherubic child. Sarah wondered just how old that one was.

"Afternoon boys!" she called in greeting. The dark one flashed her a smile. The pre-immortal nodded and focused his attention on the boulder as he let loose with another rock. He hit dead center of the target they'd chalked onto it.

"All right!" He raised his arms in victory and pumped them up and down. The mute one gave him a high five while the dark one stomped his foot in disgust.

"Aw man… No fair. I was distracted."

"To the relentless goes the spoils of victory," the boy crowed triumphantly. "Hand it over."

Sarah moved on… and then turned and back-pedaled. "You boys should try slingshots. I hear they're deadly." She turned and sped up. It was lame, and she knew it… still… maybe they'd end up killing each other… or the boy at least. Eleanor cared about that boy. His death would surely hurt her. Sarah grinned and kept jogging. Maybe she could arrange a little accident. After all… it wasn't as if he'd die permanently.

-----

Kenny stared after the retreating whore. He'd overheard enough about her since her arrival to know what she was. He also knew she was far more dangerous than this "helpless damsel" act she was putting on. He'd noticed the way the swordmaster followed her with his eyes when she wasn't looking and Kenny was still hoping to pay the man back for killing him… belittling him… letting him live as if he meant nothing.

The boy still had a knife carefully hidden away and knew that at the right moment… a knife could accomplish a great deal. He just had to set things up. Maybe he could manipulate a confrontation between the whore and the swordmaster… one that would be electrifying at least. He smirked in satisfaction as he considered just how it might work. He was getting bored playing children's games. Darting a fast glance at J.D., he sighed. He'd saved the boy's life to ingratiate himself in with the adults and it was working. He had greater freedom now… and even if they didn't quite trust him… they no longer quite distrusted him.

Kenny's smirk faded as he reached down to pick up a stone, and toss it back and forth between his hands a moment before firing it at the builder. It hit off to one side, but he didn't care. After all… even children's games could be deadly.

-----

Low tide.

Phillip stood on the damp sand as he stared out at the cove. He dared go no closer. In recent days he'd noticed how much stronger Nestor felt now. Even dead… his evil seemed to grow and affect everything around him. Even this sacred spot was losing some of its glamour. Eleanor had swum through the waters last night. Had that been a part of what had happened to her? Had Phillip's reluctance to just kill Valeraine and wrestle Nestor within himself be the root cause of what had happened earlier today? The water lapped near his feet and he backed up a step. For a moment the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up and his unease grew.

While on one level he knew that Methos would never intentionally hurt Eleanor… he had for centuries hurt her with his very indifference. Did he not even see that it was still a part of him? He took her for granted… that she would always be there for him. What if one day she wasn't?

Phillip let out a ragged breath. He'd been too long alone and he knew it. For many years, his grief over Carlo's death had kept him company and he'd been willing to just drift through life once more… an observer but not a participant. As Nestor's power had grown… so too his memories turned more and more often to those early days when he'd served at his master's pleasure. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the tortured screams of men dying on the battlefields all about him. He shuddered at the thought, determined to make his way through this memory as he had so many other times. Why then did he feel lost at the center and why were his hands even now covered in blood?

-----

Once Eleanor calmed down and drifted off to sleep, Methos tiptoed out of the room and returned to the main floor. Gingerly he opened the door of Phillip's study and stared at the piles of artifacts. He wanted to throw them away! He felt like kicking them… smashing them against the walls and ending this charade here and now! He made it so far as to pick up a pre-Columbian piece of pottery and was about to throw it when his gaze was entranced once more by the symbols running along the line of red ochre. They teased at him… birth… death… (re)birth… death… and so on. It was an unending cycle. Curiously he turned the fragment in his hands, focusing on the edges… sharply jutting upward like a mountain range. He looked at the floor and found a wooden Polynesian idol with stylized grin. If he held it sideways… it and the pottery reminded him of the mountains as seen from the monastery of Sun Tzu in the Himalayans. Even the snowcap was represented in the red clay of the broken pottery.

"What do you mean? Why show me glimpses when it's answers I need," he said reverently and was soon on the floor… seeking something that would represent the rest of the mountain range.

At some point, Phillip joined him and time itself seemed to stretch and lengthen around them as they lost themselves once more in the puzzle.

The shadows of evening were deepening around them before Phillip spoke. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"You were concerned. But so was I." Methos replied a bit sharply and then met his friend's gaze. "I would never hurt her. I didn't want her to try it. But she insisted."

"This memory… what do you see in it?"

Methos sat back. "Just us… but it's more like I know it's us… making love and yet I see nothing."

"And it's '_choice_' and '_betrayal_'?" he said thoughtfully. "Consider that. What to you would be the greatest betrayal?" Phillip raised his eyebrows. "Eleanor loving someone besides you?"

Methos snorted. "Hardly. Maybe me loving anyone else."

"But you did. You loved many women over the centuries… and yet when you wanted Eleanor… she was always there and I always helped you. Ever wonder why?"

"Because you're a bored little man who wanted to create trouble," smirked Methos and they both laughed.

"No… because I loved her too. Oh… not as a man loves a woman… but as a father must love a daughter or a brother his sister… a teacher his student. I could see your indifference hurt her and yet she faded without you and I feared she'd die. I was selfish. I didn't want her to die."

"There was Darius."

"Aye… there was Darius. And you sent her to him to lure him out of Paris and then protested because he remained where he was, and she remained with him. Did you ever wonder that he never betrayed you? That he knew she loved you… that you loved her… and that he was content to be both your friend and hers? He loved her too in much the same way."

"It might have been better for all of us if he'd left Paris eight hundred years ago and returned to the game." Methos said and gestured toward the artifacts. "Now I'm as caught by these things as he ever was and I'm still losing her."

"Then go to bed my friend and hold her. Ask her what she saw in her vision. Ask her what the betrayal was that made her fight it so. Ask her about Marianna. Did it even pierce that thick skull of yours what she said? That she'd beheaded the child? Who do we both know that did that? To a mother… what would be the ultimate betrayal?"

"Killing her child," Methos said in sudden understanding. "She was reliving Aja and Leila… the last of her small ones." He met Phillip's nodding gaze and rose with determination. "Good night… and thank you."

Upstairs, he checked on the children, resolving to spend more time with them and then he entered his room where he slowly undressed, determined to gather Eleanor into his arms and make her feel safe once more. He'd done her a great wrong in not trusting her sooner with his secret. He only hoped that she would still accept him back.

He slipped beneath the covers, feeling the cool cotton on his bare skin as he spooned next to her, melding his body to hers. She murmured in her sleep and settled against him… adjusting her posture to the needs of his. He slipped his arms around her and kissed her left shoulder. Then he laid his head on her shoulder and held her. "You're safe with me," he whispered. "I will never hurt you."

But if she heard, she gave no reaction. Her mental walls were still up. Before long, despite his best intentions, Methos slept.

In the darkness, Eleanor stared at the pale moonlight on the floor before the French doors and while tears silently streaked her face and wet the down pillow scrunched beneath her head.

"_You don't love him_," Sarah had said. "_You should let him go_." Maybe she should.

-----


	25. Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty-Three 

**Niebos, 1 January 2024:**

Eleanor clenched her hands as she glared at Methos. She'd risen early, eaten breakfast with the children, and then had returned to their room to begin packing while she thought he was downstairs obsessed with those artifacts. She'd thought she'd be through and already have the arrangements made by the time he poked his head out of Phillip's study to see that another day had passed.

Instead, he'd evidently spent the latter part of the morning with Marianna and J.D. on the terrace and had burst in on Eleanor filled with excitement. What followed then wasn't pretty.

"There is no way I'm allowing you to take these children and return to Virginia!" he shouted when she'd explained what she was doing.

"J.D. has to go back to school! He's falling behind!" she'd protested.

"He'll catch up. We can home school him. We stay here!"

"You can stay! I'm taking the children home!"

He'd glared at her and there had been no sense of his attempting to breach her walls and figure out what she was thinking. "Over my dead body. The children are safe here."

"There are undercurrents of danger all around us. There are too many immortals here. Can't you feel it? It's no longer safe."

"I'm not the one who had a vision of beheading a child!" he'd roared at her.

Eleanor blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. She had no response to that. "That's a low blow," she finally said quietly.

"The children stay. You can leave if you have to," he said as if hurt. "It's what you always do. You get bored and run off. Well this time, I won't stop you or pine after you. If you want to go, then go. The children, however, stay."

Eleanor pushed past him as she stormed out of the house, passing a smirking Sarah Manning on her way. It took all of her self-control not to cold-cock the young woman. Halfway along the path to the hospital, she stomped her feet several times in frustration and screamed her denial. The primal scream helped some and she bore to the right while she considered climbing the Pilgrim's Path… seeking solitude and a place to think. But thoughts of Sarah Manning bothering her there made her change her mind. Instead, she turned to head toward the village and the shoreline.

Behind her Phillip watched her go and then looked back at Methos descending the stairs. "That went well."

"I don't want her to go, but if she's determined, maybe it will help clear the air."

"Well give her some time to calm down," Phillip replied.

"Ever since Derrick left, I feel that's all I'm doing… letting her alone, letting her think, except for the other night and we all know how that turned out." Methos slouched onto a sofa with deep sigh. "There are reasons I've always wanted to be on my own and without attachments. Maybe we immortals can only manage living together for so long before everything explodes." He glanced up as Sarah Manning walked through the room, giving him a bright smile as she did so. Methos groaned. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the situation with Sarah seemed worse than before Cassandra had come. Had the psychic done something to Sarah?

Phillip watched Sarah and shook his head. That one was trouble, and he'd have to deal with her. A memory of ramming a knife through her hand fluttered through his mind and he smirked slightly as he drank his coffee. Kingsley had been a sadist pure and simple… and his quickening still bothered Phillip… but in this case… maybe he'd had the right idea.

-----

A funeral procession made Eleanor pause in her flight, and stand aside on the path, her head bowed in respect as the coffin, borne aloft on the shoulders of six men and surrounded by the mourners… old women dressed in black and sobbing; solemn men in ill-fitting black suits; somber children whose eyes darted about… passed her by. Clearly the children wanted to be anywhere but here. Watching the procession pass, Eleanor considered that she'd had few real encounters with funerals and the deaths of friends and loved ones. Immortals by their very nature did not face death except through the game. The few immortals who had ever known Eleanor still lived… except for Rebecca… and Darius. She had been in Africa when they had died and while she still mourned their passing… Rebecca's had been in the game while Darius… she shuddered. That murder still haunted her, as did having saved the life of James Horton decades before he killed Darius. In some ways… that had always been at the heart of her grief over her lost mentor… guilt that she had contributed in some way to his death.

The bell at the small church tolled slowly… one toll for each year the dead man had lived. Eleanor counted them as the crowd clustered in the small cemetery. He'd been seventy-nine. Eleanor couldn't even recall her life at seventy-nine, or where she'd been at the time. Had she moved on to Europe by then? Was she still in Viking lands? She shook her head. Clearly nothing of that time period stood out in her memory. Too much of her early immortal life had been one day after the other… wandering and alone.

Finally she turned thoughtfully and strode swiftly along the main thoroughfare of the village with its white buildings and turquoise painted doors… reminiscent of sand and ocean. Avoiding the stone dock she headed to a strip of white sand beach and stared out at the ocean. It seemed dark today… thoughts of Homer's description the wine-dark sea crossed her mind as she stared at the enormity of it. The horizon was a rippling line of gray sky against dark sea.

It was then that a memory flashed in her mind, much like ones she got from Methos in the unity bond… but this one was hers. She closed her eyes and reveled in it.

* * *

_**Coast of East Anglia, England, 885 C.E.**_

Aella paused on the road, hearing the great roar that whispered on the wind. "That way lies the sea," the farmer had told her. She'd thanked him and taken the road, which led through scrub trees toward a high dune of loose, gritty soil and grasses.

In the years since leaving Edward behind, she had taken her time in her travels, wandering through the island and the lands of the Angles and Saxons. She'd learned their languages easily enough and, while she'd thought them barbaric compared to her good Celtic tongue, she'd mastered them with ease. She'd worked as a servant and a midwife. She had neither seen nor even sensed another immortal.

Aella shifted the cloth bag on her shoulder and began the final ascent. Already the air was filled with the scent of salt and fish. Above her, gulls careened and screamed their raucous cries in the gray sky… laden with storm clouds. She didn't care. She wouldn't melt and she wouldn't die of exposure. And… she wanted to see the ocean she'd heard so much about in her travels.

While she'd been told that the land of Britain was an island, it had seemed enormous in her travels. The roads had always gone on and on. They'd wind through hills and valleys and through dark dense forest. They'd widen on open fields and narrow in city streets. She'd walked many of them until at last, Aella had decided to visit the shoreline and view the great sea.

As she mounted the hillock that was the final barrier… she gasped open-mouthed at the wide expanse that met her gaze. Dark greenish gray at the shoreline… foaming as it rushed to the land… dark and gray further out where she'd been told it was deeper than a tree was tall. When she'd seen the lochs of Scotland, she could still see the opposite shore… but here… there was only a horizon where sky met water.

In the distance she could see spumes of water cast upward… "Merfolk dancing" one old crone had told her when she'd asked about the ocean yesterday at the village. "The silkies live deep under the water in their cities of rock and shell. Be wary young miss for they are treacherous," the woman had said with a wink and a cackle. Aella had thought it was a tale told to enchant. She wondered what the woman would think of immortals… but wisely had held her tongue. Now she saw the spumes of spray and wondered at their origin.

"Silkies," she murmured as she half-slid down the loose soil… sand she'd been told it was called… to reach the waterline. Once there she dropped her bag and removed her boots to step into the water… feeling the "sand" squeeze between her toes as the tide washed over her feet. She knelt to take a handful of water cupped in her small hands and drink. She spat it out. "Brine," she whispered, recalling the saltwater solutions that were used to pickle cabbage and other vegetables.

Still… the sight of all that water took her breath away. Who would have thought there was so much water in the world… or that the world could be that big?

* * *

And the world had been big. It had been at that moment that she'd been filled with an urgency and sense of wonder at the world she inhabited and a desire to see it all. She'd been almost everywhere and had taken in the sights, committing them to memory, the rain forests, the mountains of the New World once she'd gone there, the deserts, the Great Wall of China, the Australian Outback… and the jungles of Africa and South America. In her eleven hundred years, she'd seen almost everything… and still she felt a sense of awe and wonder when she looked at the ocean.

Eleanor dropped to the sand, her legs crossed before her as she gazed at the birds overhead, the sounds of the cries interspersed now with the sounds of the approaching ferry horn… and reveled in the gentle lap of water on the sand and the ripples of wave and foam in the distance. Eleven hundred years and if she let it… the sea still called to her. Against the horizon she saw leaping dolphins. "Silkies," she breathed and laughed. The weight of the morning's events began to lessen.

She still wanted the children away from here. As she'd told Methos, the island was just getting too full of active immortals. It wasn't just Derrick's bunch… it was all of them. While generally pleasant, there were undercurrents of unrest and danger in their midst. It wasn't just Sarah… it was in Phillip, too.

Her genial friend seemed to glare and speak sharply all too often. She wasn't certain if it were the aftereffects of Kingsley's quickening… or his twice-daily visits to the cove. She and Methos spent as much time arguing about inconsequential things as they did making love. Kenny was a poised dagger over all of them… even if he had saved J.D. from drowning. Even Grace had been short-tempered in recent days.

Eleanor feared greatly that an explosion among them was imminent. She'd had too many dreams in recent weeks that had featured erupting mountains and a fire and blood-drenched landscape. While she understood those were visions of their collective past… they also seemed like warnings. She'd hoped to talk to Methos about them… see if he too was having dreams… but his mental walls and then his bitterness toward her this morning about her wanting to take the children had closed her mouth. He was so caught in the snare of the artifacts that he heard nothing else but their siren song! Eleanor grasped sand in her left hand and then raised it into the air. She watched the sand dribble away between her fingers and felt that the life they'd been trying to build… their commitment to one another… the children… everything was dribbling away in the same manner. They were losing who they were and what they meant to one another in this place. They needed to be gone from here!

Sensing an immortal racing up the beach, she glanced with concern toward the dock. Was it even now someone else to worry about? She gasped and rose, flinging her arms wide as the small form of Chou flung his arms about her waist.

"I'm back Eleanor," he cried even as she folded her arms around him. Eleanor hugged him tightly… saying a small prayer to the fates for returning him safely. Then she held him at arms length and patted his round cheeks.

"You certainly don't look like you missed any meals," she teased.

Chou laughed and then Eleanor felt others on the beach. She looked up to see Madrigal and Micah… another two returning. "They rescued me," Chou said, pointing at the two teens with a wide grin. Eleanor could see that the two had grown close indeed in the last few years that they'd been on their own. They'd wanted the chance to live in the outer world and had promised Phillip solemnly to look after and care for one another. Clearly their relationship had also become physical. The two immortal teens waved at her and, clasping a hand, began to race along the sandy shore with abandon.

Madrigal flew into Eleanor's arms. "Chou saw you from the ferry and just had to see you first. I'm so glad you're here," the girl said breathlessly as she hugged Eleanor. The two were of a similar height… although had she lived a normal mortal life, Madrigal would have been taller. She'd been beaten to death by an abusive "father" at about age thirteen and had always been a shy little thing. About three hundred years old, her heart-shaped face was framed by brown hair.

Micah was about fourteen physically and about ninety years old. He'd died in the ghettos of Warsaw in the early days of World War II. He'd assumed the leadership mantle among the small ones after Ian Daffyd had left them to follow Alisaunne. He was both eldest and youngest of the small group of small ones who had lived at the now-destroyed convent of _Ste. Genevieve_ in Alsace-Lorraine. Dark-haired and athletic… he'd been a born leader. During the ghetto years in Warsaw, he'd learned many things in the Jewish Resistance. He bowed to Eleanor stiffly and then winked as she hugged him as well.

"Welcome home both of you! However did you find our missing smallest one?"

Micah and Madrigal spoke at once, telling of how they'd settled in Armenia for a while and had pretended to be brother and sister. "We hired a woman to be our grandmother," Micah explained. "She never knew too much about us, other than that we were on our own and had money with which to pay her if she just agreed to deal with problems like truancy, school, and the police."

"We lived very quietly and simply," Madrigal added. "She was a dear. I hated leaving her behind when we moved on."

"We were in Macedonia when the _tsunami_ hit," Micah said somberly. "Things were such a mess and travel was next to impossible. We headed south on foot."

"It was only by chance," Madrigal added, "that we saw a news story about a boy rescued at sea by a fishing boat. He'd been caught in a net of fish," she finished laughing.

"Not funny," Chou pouted, but a mischievous grin lay behind the frown and the crossed arms.

"Chou the fish boy!" Micah teased as he tickled the smaller boy. Chou took off running along the path to the village and Micah followed… even picking the smaller immortal up and carrying him for a time before both collapsed in the sand laughing.

Madrigal sighed and looked knowingly at Eleanor. "Boys can be so immature."

Eleanor managed not to snort her amusement. Instead the two linked arms and headed toward the villa. "J.D. and Denis were both devastated. They will be ecstatic to see him back."

"Well we didn't think it smart to leave on display too long. Though those fisherman wanted a small fortune to sell him to us," Madrigal added. When Eleanor looked at her aghast, she broke into laughter. "Ahh… I got you there. No we didn't have to buy him… but it was interesting trying to spirit him out of the hands of authorities. If there hadn't been so many children they were trying to place with families… his face might have ended up on CNN before long. Once we had him, we had to stay hidden and low until we could get to Athens and then use the ferry."

"You might have called," Eleanor chided with a shake of her head.

"Have you tried using the phones?" Madrigal said with a shocked expression. "Besides… it was all a grand adventure. We only found him a little over a week ago. We'd hoped to be back by Christmas… but obviously that didn't happen."

"Not to worry… Adam always preferred New Years gifts," Eleanor replied with a small, secretive smile tinged with memory. Yes… New Years was always the time for presents as far as he was concerned.

Ahead on the path she saw the boys come running, J.D. in the lead and clearly excited. Her son stopped suddenly when he recognized Chou and whatever had sent the three of them charging down from the villa was forgotten in their sudden excitement of having their lost friend back.

By this time Eleanor and Madrigal had caught up with squirming mountain of boys wrestling and laughing on the path.

Once again Madrigal laughed. "Boys," she said dismissively. From the pile, Micah looked at her as if hurt… and then reacted to tickling and returned to laughing and crowing along with the rest of them in that pile.

"Boys… let him breathe!" Eleanor finally laughed. "Let's not suffocate him with such a hearty welcome."

As if her voice had suddenly reminded J.D. why he'd been running to find her, he looked up and paled. "Mom… Dad said to come… now!"

Eleanor froze and glanced toward the villa. She lowered her walls but only a sense of urgency came through from Methos. She took off running. "Marianna," she whispered in fear. Something had happened to Marianna. What else could possibly elicit such urgency for her to return? She left the children behind as she raced hurriedly up the mountain to the villa.

Reaching the terrace, she bent over for a moment to catch her breath and saw Methos emerge from the house looking worried.

"What's happened?"

"Best come see," he said carefully.

She pushed past him into the house, fully expecting to find that Marianna had fallen and broken her neck. Instead she saw her daughter and Denara sitting on the floor and playing. Not to be deterred, Eleanor swooped down on Marianna, lifting her, kissing her and checking her for breaks, scrapes and bruises. There were none. She turned to look quizzically at the somber Methos and sent him her puzzlement.

He sighed and closed the door behind him and then motioned Katherine to take Marianna and Denara away. His walls stayed up.

"Now you're really scaring me," she accused him.

"I just didn't want you to overhear me… or to be alone when you hear," he said softly. He stepped toward her. She backed away.

"What?"

Methos sighed. Clearly this was not going to go down the way he wanted. Finally he seemed to reach a decision and nodded. "Derrick," he said. Eleanor's knees buckled and Methos reached to catch her. "Come… it's on the news." With an arm wrapped protectively about her, he led her into Phillip's study and closed the door.

The television was on and Phillip sat behind his desk thoughtfully stroking his beard.

From the set came a Greek news commentator. "The plane dropped off of radar shortly after takeoff. As of this moment… US and NATO flights have scrambled and are in the air."

Eleanor turned to watch the news loop play out on the set… just stock footage of the type of plane taking off, taxiing and in flight. Slowly the events pierced her fogged brain. Derrick's flight home had vanished… likely it had crashed into the Mediterranean shortly after take-off. A low cry of despair and denial rose from her as she pushed Methos away and began to stumble. Phillip caught her as she half fell and her voice rose to a scream. Methos took her in his arms; his voice trembled. "He's immortal Eleanor. I'm certain he's fine. It's only a plane crash."

"No-o-o-o-o-o!" she screamed and stomped her feet. This couldn't be happening. The room swirled around her and began to tilt. She was lifted into Methos arms where she buried her face in his chest and wailed. In an instant… all the horrors and fears of recent days had come to a head and she had lost all self-control or ability to handle them.

Methos cooed gently to her as he met Phillip's eyes. He gestured the Greek out with a gesture of his head. Phillip nodded and left… again closing the door while Methos placed Eleanor on the sofa and caressed her face. He lifted one hand to check her pulse. Her eyes fluttered open and she started upward… moaning again as her gaze found the television. The news was still the same… and in the openness of her mind he knew she was consumed with images of Derrick… but not the Derrick of today… but visions of small boy lost and alone in the darkness. He took some comfort in that… that she still regarded the young man as a child, and then chided himself for such thoughts.

He leaned closer to her, holding her to his chest as he whispered, "I'm here Eleanor. It will be all right. I didn't want you to be alone when you heard the news. I'm here."

At a creak of the door, he glanced up and saw the figure of Sarah Manning. She smirked slightly and then reached to close the doors. Inwardly he groaned and snarled at the thought of her… but his anger only seemed to make Eleanor shake and wail harder as if his anger were directed at her. _Bloody hell_, he thought. _What is it with her these days? Where is the confident woman I married?_ But at the heart of it, she was as she had been when she was young… a small waif of a bird… shy and insecure. Perhaps that had always been a part of her… even when she showed a brave face to the world.

He hugged her to him and rocked with her until exhausted she finally slept. In dreams she kept murmuring Derrick's name. Off to one side the television commentator continued her interviews and recapped that news about the lost **_AlItalia_** plane bound for Athens.

_What the hell had happened?_

-----


	26. Chapter Twenty Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**_Charles DeGaulle_ Airport, 1 January 2024, a few hours earlier:**

It had taken a couple of days to get the flights set up for their trip back to Athens. Four seats… not three as originally planned.

In the meantime, Derrick had taken Amber on a trip about Paris. After all, now that he knew he wasn't staying here, he doubted he'd ever come back. Whatever purpose there had been in Darius' long sojourn here, it had nothing to do with Derrick. In quiet moments, he read and studied the chronicle entries about the two thousand year old priest. Some of them he realized he knew… as if he'd lived them… dreamed them… others were a revelation.

He'd never realized that the man had a sense of humor both before and after his coming to Paris. He might have considered winning the game at one point… but it seemed to even his Watchers that he was amused about it and that it never entered into his calculations as general of a barbarian horde… or later as priest.

Some Watchers remarked about the size of the sword he wielded with ease and its strange configuration in a day and age when swords were shorter. It seemed a massive thing. Later chroniclers wondered what had happened to it and if it lay hidden somewhere on the church grounds… awaiting the day when he'd take it up once more. Still others suggested that it was a legend only… or that it was simply a sword with a longer blade to give him an advantage… he had been a metalworker… according to things he'd said that had been written down… and perhaps the sword was just something he'd created.

Derrick smiled at some of the entries, thoughtfully translated into English by the program or by Joe… though Derrick thought he could have managed them even in the old tongues. His dreams as a boy had often included languages he didn't know and yet somehow began to understand… or remember. These entries were written by men who fought beside Darius, or by women who served him soup at a campfire. Later they were written by young monks or priests on fire with the word of God and yet trying to justify an immortal within that framework. Most spoke glowingly of the man they Watched… only a few cast aspersions on his character… even when he was conqueror of their people. Derrick found it filled with insight into the man whose quickening had somehow not been lost but had found its way to him. But he was no closer to knowing why that had happened… except that Darius had felt something still unfinished that needed to be done. But if not the cavern… what?

"Come on me _boyo_," Amber said with a laugh. "Yar all caught up in that and can't see the forest for the trees.

Derrick glanced up at the milling crowds at the airport. They'd arrived in plenty of time and had been processed through swiftly; their swords once more relegated to baggage. He still worried about that, but Phillip had told them it was the easiest and fastest way through commercial travel.

"I don't like being without mine either," Phillip had chuckled before they left, "But it's better to hide something in plain sight rather than try to hide it at all."

No one with weapons was allowed on the planes other than the air marshals and while that gave Derrick and the others some measure of security within the terminal and aboard the plane… he was still concerned. After all… the Great Sword supposedly called to other immortals when it wasn't with him. What if there was one working in the baggage areas?

Sensing another immortal somewhere in the terminal he sat back and casually scanned the crowd. No one clearly stood out and he assumed that whoever they were… they were moving on, determined not to react unless necessary. Derrick couldn't blame the immortal. It's what he should do. He clicked off the scanner.

"Want something to drink?" he asked Amber. When she nodded, he rose and headed for a drink kiosk not far from their waiting area. Swiftly he bought two bottles of water and was heading back to her… even flashed her a smile when he felt the immortal move up on his right. He turned swiftly… ready for hand-to-hand combat if necessary.

The man stopped some six feet away. He was wild-eyed, and his clothes were covered with dust. He rubbed his forehead, as if uncertain what was happening. Derrick cautiously lowered his defensive stance. People continued to brush past the two of them unconcerned.

The man clutched his head and hissed in pain as Cassandra walked up. He backed away, shaking his head at both of them. His wordless cry of terror said more than many explanations might.

"Warren," Cassandra said tentatively. "Warren Cochrane?" she reached out for him.

He shook his head and backed away further. Then he turned ready to take flight, when he saw Alisaunne emerge from the ladies room. Her eyes widened and she smiled as she raced toward him. "Ren! You found me!" She was hugging him happily while he looked around in wordless terror. Then he began to clutch her and sob.

"And you know him?" Derrick said quietly to Cassandra.

"Yes… an old friend. He's had some problems. He had a mental breakdown a few years ago and has never been quite the same." She smiled. "I met him on Flodden Field… after the battle he first died in. Such a bonny boy he was."

Derrick shifted warily, wondering just what this new immortal meant to him, and to the others.

-----

Warren… or Ren as Alisaunne kept referring to him did seem to respond to her. "I was looking for you. Your face was all I could think about," he told them while they huddled in the chairs near their flight. Ren had tickets for Glasgow… but other than looking up when his flight was called, made no move to leave her. He kept touching her as is to prove she was real.

"He's got to come with us!" Alisaunne said. "Give me your ticket. I'll make the arrangements."

"I think he has to do that," Derrick said cryptically. Alisaunne was excited, Cassandra was concerned, Ren was confused and Amber and he were just observers at the moment.

"You must come to Greece with us. I want you to meet my p…" She paused and then continued, "Meet my friends and mentors. It's the first time in almost thirteen years that I've been home. I want them to meet you." Alisaunne's happiness seemed infectious as Ren gradually seemed to come around to the idea. They headed for the ticket counter to see about exchanging his ticket. Evidently he didn't care where he was going… as long as she was there.

"I'm not certain I quite trust him," Amber whispered. "How do ya feel about him?"

"I'm not sure," Derrick replied honestly. "I sense danger about him… but it's unfocused… as if it's as much against himself as one of us."

"Ya still see those auras ya spoke of then?"

Derrick nodded. Usually if people were a threat to him… he could sense it about them… like a feeling or a color. But about Warren, it was in flux… as if he could go either way. Derrick thought about Tyler Burke and his confusion. Cochrane seemed much the same. He was angry… but it was focused at someone or something he couldn't seem to clearly recall. He felt dangerous… but not imminently threatening.

"I'll watch him," he whispered back and noticed that Cassandra was watching the other two with an odd look on her face… as if she were jealous. But jealous of who? Which one? And why? Was it something as simple as that the two of them knew one another and were making plans without consulting her? Or was it something else? Derrick wondered just what had happened at the battle of Flodden Field and how those events might yet impact them all.

-----

Ren handed over his passport and ticket with a rueful smile to the ticket agent. Beside him Ali practically bounced. Until an hour ago… shed been a face in a dream that he'd been uncertain of. She knew him… she called him Ren… it was enough for the moment.

"We're flying into Rome and then on to Athens," she was explaining to the agent and Ren was content to let her do the talking while he tried to think clearly. His head still hurt from the annoying buzz he kept hearing and didn't understand. He'd felt it several times recently and… Ren shook his head. He wasn't certain what had happened those other times. It was confusing and had something to do with getting hit by lightning.

-----

The flight into Rome had been uneventful. They'd had a short layover of about an hour… barely enough time to move from one plane to the other as they'd been parked on opposite ends of the terminal. The two couples held hands and laughed as they moved along the concourses toward their destination. Cassandra felt like a fifth wheel. Her coat folded over her arms, she followed them sedately and with a worried expression teasing at the small line in the center of her forehead. She was thinking about Flodden Field… and a new immortal name Warren Cochrane.

* * *

_**Flodden Field, Scotland, 1513 C.E.**_

The dead… the young men of Scotland who had followed their king on his quest were dead… as was the king. The slaughter of nearly an entire generation of young was beyond comprehension. Ravens swooped over the bloodied corpses on the battlefield, cawing their raucous delight.

Among the dead she walked, Cassandra, the witch of Donan Wood. Around her was death… rotting, putrid death. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she stepped amongst the corpses searching for life. With her were other camp followers, many showing the signs of the brutal rape of the victorious English. Each searched through the bodies, seeking a familiar face or the clan sigil of someone they knew. Those bodies would be buried and word of their deaths would be taken home to their villages. As for the rest?

Cassandra glanced over to where some of the peasant men were already piling corpses to be burnt or buried in mass graves. She had seen such carnage before… many times… and its aftermath always required harsh decisions. Like the _Morrigan_ of Celtic legend, she had come to search the battlefield for a warrior. In this case, she hoped to find an immortal… someone new to the life. Her dark cloak fluttered like raven's wings in the breeze as she moved among the dead. Thus she had done for millennia. But this time… there was the prophecy to consider… _the Highland child born on the Winter Solstice. Did he lie here among the dead? _

Not far away the voice of Angus MacFadden yelled and called to her, "Cassandra… I've found one!" The burly, red-haired Highlander was kneeling in the bloody soil and had lifted the semi-conscious form of a wounded man… no… a dead one, who was only now reviving.

Even as she strode toward the pair, Cassandra could feel his quickening spark and then begin to burn as the body jerked in Angus' arms and drew in that first tortured breath of immortal life.

"Here is some clean water," she told Angus as she offered him the small bag of water from her side to the Scot and then crouched at his side to get a look at their prize. The new immortal was dark-haired; he wore it long; a dark and bloody beard surrounded his mouth, now gasping as he drank the offered water. He spat blood two or three times and then looked around with wild eyes.

"Wha's 'appened? Who ur yoo? The king?"

"King James, my young friend, alas, is dead. The English are victorious," Angus began but was interrupted by the young man's howl of denial and his flailing arms. Angus released him to survey the field of battle. The howl increased as the young man got a good clear look at Flodden Field.

Cassandra's heart broke for him. Too often those whose first death was on the battlefield… who awoke to the carnage-laden aftermath… were never able to become strong immortals. It was one reason she always came, hoping against hope that she could save them. Perhaps it was something she had learned from her teacher, the mysterious Lilith who wanted so to save the children. At any rate… she reached forward to gently touch the young man's arm.

"There will be other battles for you. Come."

His hazel eyes met hers and filled with tears. "Fer a free Scotland, I'll lay down my life."

Cassandra caressed his cheek with a smile. He was so very young and naïve. "Then come away with me young one… for I have much to tell you."

He looked around in confusion and horror, sobbing once more. Angus patted his shoulder. "Aye lad… tis a hard thing to live when all about ya are dyin'. But God had a plan fer ya and it didn't involve dyin' this day. Now go with Cassandra. I'll continue lookin' fer others."

"Ma kinsman Donal… Robert of Glenelwinn… ya'll search fer them?"

"Aye lad… and come nightfall… I will come to ya and we'll have ourselves a real talk."

Numbly the young man rose… clearly still overwhelmed by events and by what he saw around him. He flinched as one of the nearby women shrieked and then fell to her knees, clawing at one of the corpses.

"Do you have a name?" Cassandra asked, taking his arm lightly, fully ready to withdraw her hand if need be.

"He nodded. Warren… Warren of Helensburgh… in Strathclyde."

Cassandra's heart fell, but she gave no sign of her disappointment. He was not from the Highlands. He was not the one she sought. "Then come with me Warren of Helensburgh. I have a campsite just over there… upwind of the battlefield. I have a fire, and there will be water, ale, food, and a clean blanket. Whatever you seek?"

He nodded and accompanied her. Behind them, Angus continued his grisly task of searching the dead.

At the fire, Warren sank cross-legged while Cassandra stirred the embers and put water on to heat. When it was hot, she dipped a cloth and began to wash his face of blood, sweat and grime. Warren's eyes remained unfocused, but he no longer fought her. Indeed, it didn't seem as if anything would break through the heavy depression he was in. Cassandra sighed and then offered him some more cold water to drink while she set about cooking a basic meal. When it was ready, she was surprised by Warren's intense and curious gaze. He fingered the hole in tunic where likely he'd received his fatal wound.

"Am I bewitched?" he asked. "Ah know I was wounded. But there's no wound."

Cassandra glanced at the setting sun. Angus would be here soon. She sighed and then moved to Warren's side. "There are those of us who heal very quickly. You are such a one."

Warren's brow knitted. "And this noise in my 'ead!" he cried with a brittle tone. He winced and held it with both hands.

Cassandra gently pulled his hands from his head and lifted his head until his eyes met hers. "It is the gift of us who have it to know when others are about. You sense me… and Angus. Now you must eat. Angus will tell you everything when he comes."

Warren shook his head. Cassandra gathered the young man into an embrace, feeling his tears on her breast. He groaned and lifted his head to kiss her. Cassandra kissed him back and then relaxed onto the ground so he could fumble aside her clothing and make love to her. It had been so long for her since her last lover. In the back of her head, the thought that she was taking advantage of him reared its head. She pushed it down and focused on pleasing him and urging him on.

By the time Angus returned, they were finished and still lolling in the dirt… Warren atop her, her bare legs bent and shining with sweat in the firelight. Angus snorted at them both and then stepped out of the circle of light for a moment. Cassandra pushed the young man away and straightened her clothing. Inwardly she felt content.

* * *

Cassandra shook her head, brushing her hand before her eyes as if to dispel the flies that had swarmed about them that long ago day. Warren Cochrane had never been a strong, confident immortal… and his love for a free Scotland had always been the one overwhelming truth of his life. Angus had taken him away the following day to train him while she had returned to Donan Wood to watch and to wait. The immortal she sought would be born nearly a century later… in 1592. 

_L'attenzione tutti i passeggeri per il volo 664 del AlItalia, comincia prego ad imbarcare ora._

The feminine voice on the intercom asked them to begin boarding their flight to Athens. Cassandra fumbled for a boarding pass and as a group, the four… no make that five now… immortals moved forward in the line.

The new seating arrangements had Cassandra sitting with Derrick and Amber while Alisaunne and Warren were two rows up and in the center. Cassandra eyed them whispering with each other and worried. _Nothing good can come of that_," she thought and then sat in the window seat. Amber sat next to her while Derrick sprawled his long legs partially into the aisle. After the plane took off, he scrunched down in his seat and closed his eyes. They were in the air. The next stop would be Athens. What could go wrong now?

-----

Ten minutes later there were people running in the aisles, screams, a shot fired, and the definite feel of the airplane banking sharply and then diving before leveling out and streaking across the sky at full throttle.

Cassandra made to leap to her feat… awkward in the coach seats and was restrained by Derrick's firm arm. "Be still," he said quietly.

Cassandra gasped at the feel of his hand and for a moment saw once again a fight to the death… and Derrick was on his knees. She moaned her denial and then blinked the image away. She needed to concentrate on the here and now… or all of their lives and their hopes for a future would be lost.

A man of medium height, bearded and with dark curly hair sauntered slowly down the aisle, an automatic weapon in one arm. Slowly he leaned over a male passenger slumped in his seat… blood dripping from one hand from the slowly blooming rose-shape on his chest. The hijacker gingerly lifted a small firearm from the man's holster and tossed it to another of his armed compatriots. Evidently the dead man was the air marshal… the only armed man among the passengers besides this man's own men. They'd already identified and killed him.

From where they sat, the immortals could see the armed men slowly emerging from the hostess galleys scattered throughout the plane. Evidently they'd smuggled the arms aboard in the hostess carts and had just waited for them to begin pulling them out to begin serving the meal. Some of them were dressed casually in Western clothing; some were in business suits. They made no attempt to hide their faces from the rest of the passengers.

A man several rows back managed to stand from an interior seat and began to yell at the leader. He was dead a moment later, blood spilling from between his eyes.

The leader glared at the rest. "Anyone else? Remain where you are and there will be no further need for reprisals."

Amber leaned closer to Derrick. "We have to do somethin'."

Derrick shook his head. "Even if we were armed… how far do you think we'd get. For the moment, it's best to sit still and watch for an opening."

"But they're killin' people," Amber argued.

"I know. But if do anything, others might die, too. Let's just wait this out for the moment. Our moment to act will come," he replied quietly.

Meanwhile Cassandra's vision kept assaulting her. Two dark figures struggled and fought in a white-hot desert landscape… and one was losing. It had been a long time since so powerful a vision had claimed her, and she was indeed worried.

At the front of the plane, the locked door to the cockpit opened and one of the flight officers called and motioned to the leader. He headed in that direction, leaving his men to patrol the aisles.

Children cried, women wept silently, men fumed and were occasionally assaulted with gun butts if they said or made any movement. But for the moment… there was no more shooting. The bodies of most of the flight crew, throats slashed, were dragged into the passenger cabin. Three of the hijackers joined the flight officer who had survived and was apparently working with them, into the cabin and locked the door. The leader had returned by this time.

"If you think the plane's black box will help authorities to find you… I would relieve you of that hope." He held up the box. "All tracking devices have been disabled. You will not be killed, but I require all cell phones and PPC's. My men will begin searching. If you refuse to hand over your electronics… you will be shot."

While the plane veered again in another direction, the hijackers began to methodically search the passengers. Derrick calmly gave up his cellphone, glad that his Watcher's reader was well hidden in his coat balled under his seat. He made no move to fight them.

Ren mumbled and made to fight the hijacker off when Alisaunne held his arms down. "He's on medication. Please… don't shoot him."

The hijacker grinned at her and reached over to caress one of her breasts in that skimpy top she wore, and to pinch it. Alisaunne winced but did nothing to fight him off. Another hijacker urged the man to move on. He did so reluctantly. "Perhaps my pretty… you can repay me later," he laughed.

Alisaunne smiled bitterly and then turned her attention to keeping Ren calm.

Two other passengers who complained were shot. By then, the plane, at a high rate of speed was descending below the clouds. Cassandra could see nothing but sand. _Where are we? Does anyone know where we are?_ She said nothing aloud, and feared that her vision might be imminent.

The hijackers held on as the plane hit the sands on its belly and bounced three times before sliding to a sudden stop. In the aftermath of the controlled crash, several passengers rushed the hijackers and shots filled the air.

-----


	27. Chapter Twenty Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Niebos, 1 January 2024:**

The howl of intense pain filled the air.

Caspar Wingate, busy working on the yacht's engine below decks raised his head, hurriedly wiped his hands on an oily rag, as he raced up the gangways to the main deck.

"Burke!" he muttered. It had to be Tyler Burke. He was the only one currently on board as the others were ashore. He'd given Burke a job of checking the lengths of rope for wear and tear… a simple job that even the brain-addled man seemed to comprehend. What had gone wrong?

Upon reaching the deck Wingate was even more confused. He could see no reason for Burke's obvious distress… but he was racing to and fro on the deck… the long torturous cry shrieking on the wind.

"Blast it Burke!" Wingate snapped as he approached the upset immortal and tried to pull his hands from his face.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" Burke yelled and broke free to continue his pacing.

Wingate sighed. "You crazy immortal! We're not going anywhere right now. We're doing maintenance on the ship so that we _can _go soon."

Burke whipped around. His tangled red hair surrounded his florid face. His pale blue eyes glittered in red-rimmed and teary sockets. "Go now!"

"Why?" Wingate yelled back, gesturing with both hands. Sometimes he wondered just when and where he'd become this man's guardian. "Where should we go?"

Burke looked around wildly and then pointed off in a southeasterly direction. "There!"

Wingate stared at the horizon and sighed, dropping his head into one hand and shaking it. "You fool! Only ask him one question at a time," he mumbled to himself. "If you ask more than one he only answers the last one." He followed the pacing Burke and when the big man turned, Caspar Wingate put his hands on the immortal's shoulders. "Why do we need to go, Burke?"

Behind them, Hikaru Masahiro slowly approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

Burke swallowed air in great gulps. Tears were running down his cheeks. His mouth worked up and down but nothing intelligible came out.

Wingate smiled encouragingly. "That's it… get your breath back. Settle down. Think. Why do we need to go," he prodded gently.

Burke nodded and met Wingate's dark eyes. "Derrick needs us. We go?"

Wingate dropped his hands. "Derrick? He's in Paris Burke. He's fine."

"If I may, I believe he was flying out this morning," Masahiro interjected softly.

"Well even so… why would he be southeast of us. Burke you're daft!" Wingate finally laughed.

Burke snarled at both men. "Burke knows! Derrick needs us!" He pushed the two men aside and raced into the pilothouse where he leaned over the map stretched on the chart table. He mumbled unintelligibly and then plunged a dirty finger onto a spot on the coast of Saudi Arabia. "There!" he trumpeted. "We go there!"

Wingate rubbed his goatee thoughtfully while Masahiro crossed his arms and grunted.

"Now we go?" Burke asked meekly.

The other two met one another's gaze. "Perhaps," Masahiro began, "I should go to the villa and inform the others. They may know what this is about."

"What would they know?" Wingate snorted. "Derrick's one of us."

Masahiro grunted again. "He is also one of them. Did he not go to Paris for them? Did he not wire them last night that he would be flying back today? They may be able to shed light on Burke's confusion."

"Not confused!" shouted Burke. He jabbed again at the map. "We go there."

"Yeah," Wingate agreed with a nod. "Go let his majesty know what's up. Burke and I will get the ship ready to sail."

"We go?" Burke said.

"Sure," Wingate placated his friend. "We go." He winked at Masahiro and motioned him to go on. The _samurai_ bowed and left the boat.

"Now then Burk ol' buddy. How're the ropes? Are they ship-shape?" Wingate asked. He was fully ready to get as much work out of his friend before the others got back. If he kept him busy… Burke might forget this need to "go".

But Tyler Burke sighed and met his gaze calmly. "We need to go Caspar."

Wingate nodded and touched his friends arm gently. "Yeah… I get that… I really do."

-----

Never having really traveled in his little over a century of immortal life, Hikaru Masahiro had found this island charming with its simple old world charm, and small indications of modernity. He had been surprised at how much the village and people on Niebos reminded him of the Japanese villages of his mortal life. It wasn't as clean, of course. Westerners simply weren't as clean in their living habits as his people… but he'd approved of the white-painted walls and the carefully swept streets. It wasn't home, but it was as close to home as he'd found.

He lingered only momentarily in his stroll through the village before turning up the path to the villa and increasing his speed. He had heard enough of Cassandra's claims to know the future, and had seen first hand the odd power that Derrick-_sama_ held over all about him… and the almost magical gifts he had to stop fights. But he'd also seen him kill when necessary. Masahiro had witnessed the fight between his unhappy student Kobe Shinaru and Derrick-_sama_. Honor had been satisfied that day… and the end result had brought him to this place. His dedication to the young immortal he now served added wings to his feet as he sped toward the villa.

At the door, he politely knocked and then bowed when Phillip, himself, opened the door, the young girl Mary something that even Derrick had been enchanted with, curled in his burly arms.

"Forgive my intrusion, Swordmaster," Hikaru said softly. "But something has happened and I was dispatched to share the information."

Phillip nodded and motioned him in. "It just came over the television. Adam is telling Eleanor now."

Masahiro clasped his hands behind him. "Then something _has_ happened to Derrick-_sama_."

Phillip looked at him quizzically. "You mean you didn't hear about the missing plane on the radio?"

"No… Tyler Burke is distraught and says we must go… that Derrick-_sama_ needs us."

Phillip stared at him thoughtfully and then wriggled a finger to motion him to follow him. He quietly opened the door to his study, a room Masahiro had only seen but never entered. "Shh… it's the only set in the house," Phillip was saying. He shifted the whimpering child in his arms.

Masahiro saw on the sofa the couple that Derrick-_sama_ had traveled halfway around the world to find. The man was holding the sleeping woman in his lap. He eyed Phillip who repeated about it being the only set in the house.

Masahiro bowed, even as the little girl squirmed to the ground and ran to her "parents". This island's immortal inhabitants were confusing. He was still surprised that not only did they allow the small child-like immortals to live here; they even had brought pre-immortal children here to raise. It was all very strange.

Turning his attention to the set, Masahiro listened as the latest news on the missing flight was repeated. He raised an eyebrow. "You believe that Derrick-_sama_ was on this flight?"

"He sent us the flight plan information from Paris last night. Why?"

Masahiro quickly explained about Burke's comments and his insistence that Derrick needed them.

"Show me where," Phillip said crossing to a globe and spinning it slowly until the area showed up.

Masahiro showed him. By this time, Adam had eased free of his wife and daughter and had come to stand beside him. "Burke is slightly psychic… isn't he?"

Masahiro looked at the tall, slim immortal curiously. "I am not certain. He's a troubled soul… yet Derrick-_sama_ has always thought he was important. He is certain that we need to '_go_' in his words."

Adam rested his chin in one hand, scratching it slightly while his other arm crossed his chest. "Interesting. I wish Cassandra were here."

"Cassandra's gifts are dangerous. Derrick-_sama_ has told her so and forbade her to use them. I should have been with them. It was my honor to watch over him and to protect him if necessary. Despite his skill… he is still very young. I also watched Cassandra so that she would not be a threat to him."

Adam and Phillip's eyes met one another in a steady gaze. "Cassandra had to go with him, and he thought Amber might be a more suited companion on this trip than you," Phillip finally said.

"Yes… so Derrick-_sama_ told me. He bade me watch over the others and protect them all. I am his loyal servant." He bowed. "He is also my friend… and yours. I would know what to tell the others."

"I've known Cassandra a long time," Phillip said. "She's fiercely protective of Derrick… has been since she first met him as a boy. She will look after him."

"And Amber obviously cares for him. I doubt anything will get past her," Adam added.

Behind them Eleanor stirred and reached for her daughter, playing with her hair. Then she looked up. "What's happened?"

"Was Derrick ever psychic?" Adam asked her.

She furrowed her brow while she thought. "Other than sometimes knowing things he shouldn't have about people Darius knew? No… I don't think so. Why?"

"Perhaps we need to have a talk with Tyler Burke."

Eleanor looked from one man to the next and then nodded. She was ready to do whatever she needed to retrieve Derrick from whatever mess he now found himself in. _Clearly_, Masahiro thought with a nod of his head, _this woman also will protect Derrick-sama with her life._

-----

**Somewhere in the desert:**

The hijackers were still in control after the plane jolted to a stop by plowing into a sand dune. At least a dozen people, many who had made no move on the hijackers in the desperate surge to overwhelm them, lay dead. The hijackers yelled and screamed at the survivors, pushing them roughly down the aisles. Derrick, who'd suffered a graze on one arm felt sick over the carnage. He hadn't been part of that desperate surge… but Ren had. He lay dead and bleeding over the top of a seat. Ali had screamed and then been hit by one of the hijackers. She was dragged forward struggling.

"We 'ave to do somethin'," Amber whispered as the men came closer and closer.

"What would you suggest? They have weapons and they're not afraid to use them. Mortals are dying. We have to think before we act or more will die."

The hijackers reached their row and motioned them out. Derrick rose and assisted Amber and Cassandra from their seats and then followed them up the aisle to the open hatch where they were pushed out staggering into the blinding white of the sand and sun.

Almost immediately he realized that they were in real trouble and feared that more would die. The hijackers were pulling the women and children to one side and shoving the men to the other side where they were made to kneel with their hands behind their heads.

Cassandra realized it too. The women were told to sit in the shadow of the plane. She resisted sitting. Instead she moved toward one of the men, and pitched her voice just so. "You don't want to do this. You don't want to kill anyone. You do want to protect us."

The man's eyes flickered and his mouth dropped open as he nodded at her words. It might have worked, had another man not overheard Cassandra. Swiftly he rammed his gun butt against her mouth with such force that she felt her jaw shatter. Blood spewed from her mouth as she sank to her knees. The man pressed a revolver to her forehead. "Try to speak again bitch and I will blow your brains out." She nodded her understanding as she covered her now healing mouth. If she were lucky, he'd not realize how much damage he'd done. She raised one hand to acknowledge that she understood while she turned away and crawled into the group.

Alisaunne grabbed her shoulders to check the damage while Amber glared at the hijackers and stared at the men kneeling in the sand. This situation had developed so quickly that not even immortals could do anything.

When everyone had been off-loaded, the leader strode back and forth between the two groups. "Your women will not be harmed. They will be marched across the sands to our camp where they will be kept until ransom is paid for their release. No longer will the freedom loving people of the third world eke out a living while rich westerners live in luxury. Know that the ransoms paid for your women and children will help feed thousands." He then motioned with his arm and all the hijackers brought their weapons to bear on the men and opened fire.

Amber screamed… and so did the other women.

The men fell bleeding and dying… their blood soaking into the parched sands of the desert. The hijackers walked among the bodies, firing off a few bursts if anyone moved.

The leader turned to the women. "If you obey instructions, no one will harm you. You are worth a fortune alive. Dead you are useless. But make no mistake. We will kill anyone who does not obey. If you lag behind… you will die. If you talk without being spoken to… you will die. If you try to escape… you and five others chosen at random… will die. Are there any questions?"

Amber glanced again at the bodies of the men. Ren inside the plane and Derrick would be reviving soon. At least she thought they would. Derrick hadn't died again since becoming immortal and Ren was still a mystery. But if either man was going to be able to help… this group needed to be long gone from here.

She met the eyes of Alisaunne. Right now they had to do what they could to protect the women and children… in the hope that the men would be able to follow and mount a rescue. They couldn't chance getting killed as others might also die. Besides… only they would know that others would follow… and they could help leave a trail. For once… it might be better to be docile. She helped Alisaunne get Cassandra to her feet.

"Are ya all right?" she whispered.

"Fine… I'll just need to wait to get one of them alone," Cassandra said as she wiped blood from her mouth.

"No talking!" one man yelled as he shoved them into a line.

Amber turned her attention to a small girl weeping in the sand. She picked her up and carried her as she joined the other women and children. She had a feeling it was going to be a long and very hot walk. She wondered what they'd do about water.

Behind her… Cassandra and Alisaunne assisted two elderly women as the long walk began.

-----


	28. Chapter Twenty Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Hong Kong, exact date unknown:**

Duncan MacLeod was not a fool. He also had always had a strong sense of self and purpose. With this in mind… he'd begun to order his thoughts and focus on who he was and his need to get out of this hospital and return to his quest.

Despite the seductive feel of being able to mentally make love to Amanda even if he didn't see her, he realized that the only way to convince the doctors and nurses that he was sane and in control of his faculties, was to regain them and quickly. He'd play along with whatever they wanted. He'd answer their questions and cooperate in the therapy sessions… well as much as he was able.

In the days that had followed his commitment, he'd strived to control both his actions and his thoughts. It had paid off. Today… whatever the day was… he'd lost track… he'd been allowed out of his room and into the common room of the ward. True, he was currently cuffed to the wheelchair… but it was a start.

_Likey, likey?_ came Amanda's comments.

Hopefully she would also be allowed into the common room so that together they could plan their escape. In the meantime, he kept visualizing the security measures he saw. If anyone could break them out of here… it was Amanda.

Their bond had morphed some with their enforced separation. Both of them had learned self-control. They only gave into mental sex at night… when they were supposed to be sleeping. Duncan was still finding it a turn-on to be able to have her in his mind, adding to his visions.

He shook his head. Time to get down to business. He'd caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished metal mirror bolted to the wall in his room. Edicently even glass mirrors were forbidden here. His bleached hair was starting to grow out some and he was unshaven… his jaw dark with the stubbly growth. If they hadn't known earlier he'd bleached his hair… they likely knew now.

His Chinese was getting a workout as all the nurses and doctors spoke nothing else. After that first day, he wasn't attended by any of the young female nurses. Nope, males were what he got. Amanda had enjoyed them via his eyes, but he'd been put off by her interest and it had helped him in his attempts to prove he wasn't insane and that whatever events had brought them here… were no longer of concern.

He worried about their blood having been tested… but as the days passed and no comments were made about results nor any further samples taken, he figured that nothing odd had shown up. He'd have breathed a sigh of relief if that hadn't meant that they were both under restraints and watchful eyes. The medical staff here plainly thought the two were mentally unbalanced… and they were accustomed to dealing with restraining the unbalanced.

Duncan jerked the cuffs that held his right wrist to the arm of the wheel chair in frustration. With both hands cuffed to the chair, he hadn't yet figured a way to get the cuffs off. That was just the first problem. The next was that the common room had steel grating over the windows and a door that was kept lock by the staff in the booth. They buzzed it open only when someone came onto the floor with meds, food, or to help an inmate. Further… Duncan had no clue where his _katana_ was… whether it was even here or languishing in a police evidence locker someplace.

Using a shuffling gait, he slowly walked the wheel chair toward one of the windows and tried to look through it. While light came in, the angle he was at, and the metal screens combined so that he saw very little other than a dull gray sky. He seethed inwardly and mentally kicked himself for allowing things with Amanda to get so out of hand.

_Awww… hurt!_ came her thoughts.

He grinned. _Mmm… worth it!_ and conjured up an image of holding her arms over her head as he kissed her fervently.

Amanda seemed to squirm with delight and sent an image of leaning over him… her perfect breasts naked and hanging free… and just within reach of his mouth. He licked his lips as he shifted in the chair. _Damn! This was no time for that! __Later! Lock?_ he looked at the locking mechanisms for the grates. If they could get the grates open… maybe they could plunge to their death. That way they'd be free.

_Ooh… an elopement!_ laughed Amanda.

_Concentrate!_ he ordered her.

She'd finally settled down to focus on what he saw when he stiffened. The unmistakable feel of an approaching immortal tingled along his spine. Duncan slowly turned the chair to gaze at the booth and the entrance. He growled a bit as he watched the slim man bow and pass his papers through the window to the superintendent. Moments later, Kiem Sun was buzzed through into the common room. A male orderly met him and motioned him toward MacLeod after some discussion.

"Ah… my friend… you are not looking well."

Duncan snarled as he pulled at both sets of cuffs. "What did you do to me? Get me out of this place!"

Kiem Sun glanced about for a chair and pulled it close to Duncan. "I have done nothing MacLeod. But I may have the means to get you and the lovely Amanda out of here. It may take time, however."

"I don't have time! I need to get out of here today!"

Sun glanced around the room, his gaze taking in all the security precautions. He leaned toward MacLeod. "Not today. I have to research this place a bit and see how best to accomplish that."

"The stone!" Duncan hissed. "It did this to us."

"Perhaps. Perhaps it merely gave you what you both so truly wanted… an unending attraction to one another."

"Did you know this would happen?"

"How would I know? As I said… the stone gave me answers but answers I am not at liberty to discuss."

"That's all very convenient," sniped Duncan.

Kiem Sun gazed long and hard at the Highlander and then sighed. "You gave me my life back once MacLeod. Another time you saved me from a fate worse than death. I am a man who understands debts. I will repay my debts to you by figuring out how to get both you and the lovely Amanda out of here."

"Well hurry up," replied Duncan.

"First I must, as your private therapist, ascertain what caused you and your partner to nearly kill yourselves while in the throes of passion," he said with a small smile.

"My therapist?"

Sun shrugged. "I have the paperwork although I've never used it. I think perhaps that after a few interviews over the next week or so I can get you two released. Hopefully before someone else comes looking for you.

"And what do I have to do?"

Sun grinned. "Just tell me all about the events that landed you here. And details… I want details."

Duncan growled at his old friend. "None of your business."

"Not talking today? Perhaps tomorrow or the next day then." Sun rose, gave Duncan a slight bow, a wink, and then headed toward the door to be buzzed out.

If he'd had a sword… Duncan MacLeod would have taken the head of Kiem Sun… even in front of witnesses.

-----

**Moscow:**

The warm winter weather continued. Anyplace else on the planet, someone would have been complaining of the cold. However here in Moscow, residents were complaining of the mild temperatures.

Water dripped from icicles, splashing on the slushy snow underfoot and creating patches of water that froze again overnight and left clear "black ice" patches that were treacherous to pedestrians. The normal snowdrifts piled up by the street scrapers were half their normal size. Already there was a talk of a drought by mid-summer.

Reagan Cole successfully navigated the drifts, her sensible and yet chic brown leather boots, showing a touch of salt stain on them. She'd have to get new ones… and she liked these. Looking both ways, she crossed the traffic and strode into **_Gorky Park_**. She swung both arms as she power-walked along the path that would eventually take her to her rendezvous. She'd learned even more caution since learning about the Watchers a dozen years ago… but she didn't think her contact had any worries.

She found him on a park bench in the snowy park… dressed in black overcoat and black fur hat. A black cigarette rested between his fingers and he smelled strongly of tobacco.

Reagan stopped her walk… bent over and did a few stretches, and then flung herself onto the bench to pretend to catch her breath. "That's a nasty habit you have there Vrej," she laughed.

"This?" Vrej gestured with the cigarette. "Window dressing only. A prop… part of the role I play." He flicked the cigarette away to lie sizzling in the wet snow. "I can give it up in a single moment."

"Oh?" Reagan laughed, sitting back on the bench, her hands deep in her jacket pockets, her legs stretched before her. "I'm curious… what did you use as a prop in your last life?"

Vrej turned to her and grinned as he used to grin. Even his voice changed from clipped Russion to a southern American drawl. "Besides the sequined jumpsuit? Oh… fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I still have a hankering for those."

Reagan rolled her eyes. "You should eat more of them."

Vrej laughed.

"So why did you want to see me," Reagan asked.

Her question caused his eyes to flicker a moment… and then the expression of geniality was gone. "We have a mutual friend whose name crossed my desk again yesterday," Vrej said soberly… all business once again, the charming demeanor of his old self carefully banished.

Reagan's heart skipped a beat. "Duncan? Where? How? What happened?"

"I'm not certain," Vrej said taking her gloved hand and depositing a small data disk in her palm. He then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "But he's in a lot of trouble. If he thinks a Moscow jail was a problem… this could be a catastrophe. I'm not certain if **_Interpol_** has picked up on it… but they will."

"Where?"

"It's all in the files. I copied everything and then buried it in a stack of old cases. If I'm lucky… it will be sometime next winter before anyone sees them."

Reagan let out a tortured breath. Should she get involved again? Could she not? She smiled, recalling MacLeod as one of her more gifted lovers. "I'll see what I can do," she said softly and then rose with a stretch. She plunged her hands into her pockets once more as she jogged along the path and out of the park.

Vrej watched her go and then carefully pulled out his cigarettes. He lit one, pulled in a huge drag, and smiled with a smirk. People… even immortals… were so easy to manipulate sometimes.

-----

The western sky was shot with red streaks by the time Reagan had read the files and then researched things on-line. She had some decisions to make. Should she go to Hong Kong to see if there was a way to help, or should she contact Phillip on Niebos about the situation. She had a feeling that whatever Duncan was doing, he hadn't wanted Phillip and his friends to know anything about it. He'd been very secretive even with her.

Finally shutting her computer off, she grabbed her long coat, adjusted her weapons, to head out into the night. Before she decided what to do, she had to talk to Steven. In the days since MacLeod had left, she and Steven had continued circling around one another and flirting outrageously. It was likely only a matter of time before they resumed their relationship. Reagan's only worry was whether Steven would understand that this affair meant little to her in the long scheme of time. It never had. How would he take it? Would he be angry or would he be crushed? What if she were to leave before they became intimate? Would that be best? She liked Steven… she really did… she was just uncertain as to how to proceed… and she didn't want to hurt him… or worse… make an enemy of him.

She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of Steven's club. It was still early. It would be open… but not busy. They'd have time to talk. At least she hoped they could talk. Only after that would she make a decision as to what to do about Duncan MacLeod.

Steven Keane glanced up as Reagan entered, a boyish grin across his face. "Reagan… so glad to see you," he greeted her, taking her hand and daring to kiss her cheek, holding the kiss for a moment longer than was proper. "I didn't expect you until later. This is bloody marvelous. I can order us an early dinner from the restaurant across the street."

Regan flashed a smile. Her stomach rumbled. She'd been so busy all day she hadn't stopped to eat. "Actually… that sounds great, Steven."

"Excellent, you wait right here while I make a call. I won't be long." His hand drifted down her arm and clung to it a moment before he turned to the bar and asked for the phone.

Reagan slipped off her coat, letting it hang over her arm in such a way that the weapons were still hidden. She tapped a foot while she watched Steven place his order. He kept grinning at her. She had a feeling he thought tonight might be their night. Maybe it would be. Reagan just wasn't certain.

He motioned her toward the booth he always had reserved for them and she headed over there, aware that his eyes were not the only ones following her. She'd dressed perfectly this evening, a suede mini and tight cream sweater, plunging neckline, tight enough to show her off to perfection. He brown boots were still part of the ensemble however. They were safer in case she hade to fight… or run. Reagan tossed her blonde hair and eased into the booth.

Her initial take on the room was that at least four crime figures were present… all of them armed. They seemed more interested in conversations than in trouble. Likely deals were going down here. Steven really ought to be more careful about his clientele. She crossed her legs and leaned her chin into her hands.

Steven arrived a few moments later. He slid in next to her. "I hope you like what I ordered."

"You know me and food. I'm always more interested in the company," Reagan replied. That at least was the truth. She usually had a good appetite when she ate… she just all too often forgot about food when she was on a case. In many ways… on the job was what she'd been since this morning… not a job that paid in money… but on the job nevertheless.

Steven talked about the club and about the new band he'd hired… already warming up a bit with a few numbers before things really got moving. Reagan listened to both his words and to the music. He was right. They were good. They were very good.

"You're gonna do well," she told him. She wanted him in a good mood when she dropped her bombshell. Of course… she still wasn't certain which bombshell to drop. The meal arrived and somehow, over the succulent duck seemed a poor time to discuss any unpleasantries. She waited until they were drinking small cups of strong, bitter espresso before broaching the subject.

"I may have to go to Hong Kong tomorrow. In fact… I know I have to go."

Steven's expression fell and it was clear her words had wounded him. "Oh? A job?"

She nodded and took another sip. Then she sighed. She didn't want to lie to him and Reagan found that odd. She lied to men all the time as a part of the job and as a part of being immortal. She met his sad gaze. "Actually… it's MacLeod. He needs my help."

Steven stared off into the distance at the band and seemed to cuss beneath his breath. He closed his eyes and appeared to be counting to ten. When he opened them he shrugged. "So what sort of trouble is he in now?"

"He's been committed. I have to get him out before **_Interpol_** gets wind of where he is." She was taking a chance telling him this much.

"Don't you think he can get out on his own?"

"Well," shrugged Reagan with a smile. "He's a man and in my experience… men are not always capable of doing what needs to be done."

Steven stared at her and then threw back his head to laugh. "I give up. Duncan MacLeod is a paragon among men. He must be to have so many people who flock to his side in order to help him."

Reagan sobered. "Sarcasm doesn't become you."

"Well explain it to me. I've been a perfect gentleman. I didn't insist you come to my bed. I've waited for you to decide."

"And I appreciate that."

"And this butcher who's killed indiscriminately for centuries…"

"You're so wrong about that," Reagan argued.

'Then why am I always second best in your eyes!"

Reagan tossed her napkin onto the table. "To understand that, you have to look at yourself." She gathered her coat, slipping it on easily and scooted around the booth to get out.

Steven grabbed her as she stood. "Please! I'm sorry. Don't go."

Reagan sighed and stared into his pale eyes, so very different from Duncan's deep brown ones. "Steven. I have to go. I have to do what I can to help him before he's arrested and our secret is exposed to the world. No one wants that… not even you."

"No," Steven admitted sullenly. "But there is one thing I want… more than anything."

"What?"

"You," he said and leaned forward to kiss her. His grip on her tightened slightly and she let him kiss her. In fact… she even kissed him back. Finally he drew back. "You want to stay… I know you do."

"But if I do… could you let me go in the morning? I somehow doubt it and you would be even more unhappy than you are now."

A titter of laughter nearby and they both became aware that others were watching them.

"It doesn't have to be this hard," Steven insisted. "It shouldn't be this hard."

"Oh Steven… you don't understand. I'm not the kind of girl who will ever settle down. I want to be a free spirit. It's better that way."

"All I'm offering is a home whenever you want one."

"Can we talk about this some other time? I really want to leave now."

Steven nodded. His shoulders sagged in defeat. "I'll walk you out and flag a cab," he said sadly.

He didn't have his outer coat and seemed afraid to leave her to get it. They stepped out into the chilly Moscow night, their breath fogging before their faces. The cold prickled on their faces. Steven waved for a taxi and then stepped back, hitting himself with both arms to stay warm. "It's colder than I thought," he apologetically explained.

"I know," Reagan agreed. "Listen… I want you to know that I will think about what you said. I'm not saying yes… but I'm not saying no either. I just don't know if we can have an open and yet committed relationship."

He laughed. "I'd be too jealous."

"Probably," she added.

A taxi pulled to the curb. Steven opened the door for her and Reagan leaned close to him to kiss him… firmly, but not erotically. "I'll see ya when I see ya," she laughed as she pulled away and climbed into the cab, Steven closed the door.

Reagan gave the driver her address and he pulled out from the curb, began to accelerate, and then stopped suddenly. Steven was pounding on her window. Reagan lowered it.

"Open the door," he said. She opened it.

He climbed in. "Call me crazy… but if you think MacLeod is worth rescuing a second time… I'm coming too."

Reagan laughed. "You can't."

"I can. After all someone has to be level-headed and you may need the money and contacts I have in Hong Kong."

"You have contacts in Hong Kong?" Reagan asked in disbelief.

"My dear Reagan… I own several clubs in Hong Kong and on mainland China. I'm quite the successful businessman. Besides… the sooner MacLeod is rescued and on his way to God knows what… the sooner we can talk about a real relationship."

Reagan sat back in the seat with a nod as he motioned the drive to go on.

He sat back. "Where are we going exactly?"

Reagan smiled. "Well… my apartment for the night. I thought I'd get some beauty sleep before I make travel arrangements."

Steven laughed. "You don't need beauty sleep."

"Really? Then perhaps we can find something else to do with the evening," she laughed and cuddled next to him. Company on her trip would be nice. She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

-----


	29. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Somewhere in the desert, 1 January 2024:**

As he came back to life, Derrick gasped deeply and then almost howled in the face of his pain. Had the first time hurt so much? Perhaps he'd healed more or had been so distracted by the experience of finding himself alive and immortal… he hadn't really paid any attention to the pain of burns and broken bones. This time though, his chest was on fire. How many shots had he taken in his desperate move to cover one of the mortals and protect him? The white light of the desert afternoon made him blink and close his eyes against the light. He could smell the blood about him and then in the distance… or what seemed to be a distance… he heard a howl of distress.

He pushed up off of the man he laid atop of, taking a moment to look at the bullet crease across the man's brow. His eyelids fluttered slightly. Alive! Derrick prayed his thanks. At least this one was alive. Then he looked around. All about him were the bodies of the thirty or so men who'd been marched off the plane and murdered. They were from all walks of life and represented the spectrum of humanity. Derrick wanted to weep for the loss and mentally thought through his own actions and if there was anything he could have done to prevent this. He couldn't think of anything… it had all been so fast and so well planned. Being an immortal didn't make him invincible… only invulnerable to death in these circumstances.

The cries of distress continued… seeming to echo. Derrick flopped over on his back, took a deep breath before he sat up. Likely that was Ren… still inside the plane. Clearly the man's mental stability was precarious. Derrick rolled to his left and pushed up off the ground… regaining his feet. The spilled blood was dark… almost a blackish maroon where it had splashed onto the sand and then evaporated. Overhead, a flock of carrion were circling and cawing. They'd begin feeding soon, and there was little Derrick figured he could do to stop it. He knelt for a moment to feel the pulse of the man he'd covered. It was strong… if slow. He'd likely awaken soon. Other than the bloody welt across his brow, and a wound in his right hand, he seemed to have escaped death.

Another scream echoed in the hot, dry air. Derrick sighed. He'd better deal first with Ren. Rising again, he headed back to the wreckage and climbed through the hatch. At least outside, the smell of death had not seemed so moist and close. Here… the putrid smell of decay turned Derrick's stomach.

Focusing on the sobs he heard, he swallowed his gorge and began to search through the plane, starting with where he'd last seen Ren's body. It was, naturally, gone. Derrick peered into the dark cabin on the plane. The sunlit glare glowing through the ports made the cabin seem even darker. Derrick plunged on, shifting bodies and being respectful not to tread on them. Once again his guilt at not being able to prevent this tragedy nearly overwhelmed him. Life was too precious to be thrown away or stolen.

He found Ren, finally, crouched in the open door of the head. The man was holding his head and moaning. "Go away! Go away!"

"Ren?" Derrick said cautiously.

"Who are you? Why do you trouble me? Is this Hell?" He held his head in both hands and rocked back and forth.

Derrick crouched before him, "We were on the plane… do you remember the plane? Do you remember Alisaunne?"

Ren moaned. "We marched to battle. We charged the English. They counter-attacked… swarming all over us." Then he looked up at Derrick. "Ali? The dark lady of my dreams. Is she real?"

Derrick nodded. "She's real and she needs our help." He offered a hand. "Can you stand? I'll get you out of here." It was likely an oversimplification, but Derrick feared it was all this confused immortal could manage at the moment. The main thing was to get him out of the plane. Then Derrick would need to retrieve the weapons from the cargo hold and return to the cabin to gather supplies. While he knew that Amber, Cassandra and Ali could take care of themselves, he was concerned about the remaining mortals… and if there were an immortal involved somehow. He shook his head at that thought. Surely not. But something about this whole episode bothered him. Even Cassandra had seemed unusually quiet, as if she saw something and was trying not to say anything… and then she had spoken and been beaten for it. _Had someone known about her abilities?_

By this time, the two immortals had reached the hatchway. "Watch your step here," Derrick said calmly. "It's a bit of a drop." He and Ren emerged in the bright sunshine. Several of the birds had begun pecking at the corpses.

Ren howled in terror as Derrick waved at the birds. They took flight. "You'll have to wait," Derrick yelled up after them. Then he looked at the immortal. This man had spoken of marching to battle. Evidently he'd flashed back to whatever war he'd been killed in. Damn! Derrick wished he knew more about the man. Earlier in the airport, he'd seemed confused, but understood where he was. Now… he seemed to have totally lost it. Derrick didn't even know how to begin explaining immortality to him. It seemed a part of what Ren wanted to forget… the endless killing that seemed to be a part of that life… even of a man who didn't want to kill. Derrick had already killed twice in his short life… and had he the choice… he wouldn't have. If Ren were even a few hundred years old… how much worse had it been for him?

He settled Ren in the shade of the plane and then crossed once more to the unconscious mortal whose life he seemed to have saved, and dragged the man over next to Ren. "He's alive. Keep an eye on him while I get us some water."

Derrick climbed back through the hatch and rummaged in the nearest hostess station. Since the weapons had been in the food carts, there wasn't as much in the way of supplies here as there should have been. Further, it appeared that the hijackers had also rummaged through the station to gather supplies. Derrick headed further back to the other station. He found bottles of water there and tossed them out to Ren.

"I'll look for food later. I need to check the hold."

"For what?"

Derrick gazed at Ren. "Our weapons."

Ren rubbed his side thoughtfully. "Swords. Aye… we carry swords."

Derrick nodded. "Yes… take care of that man while I'm busy." He pulled back into the cabin and began looking about for the access panel that led to the cargo hold. He'd seen such things in films and assumed something would exist. He wasn't certain how to get in from the outside. He found it easily enough. It had already been opened.

Derrick groaned and then leaned over the edge to look into the inky blackness. No light reached the hold at all. He'd have to find an electric torch or make a burning one. He lucked out in finding an emergency torch in one of the galleys. Turning it on, he gingerly lowered himself into the cargo hold. In the cold light of the torch, he could tell that the place had been ransacked. Slit open bags had been tossed about. Others were still hanging in the cargo straps… but had been opened.

After several minutes of searching, he located the secure case that contained their swords. Or rather… had contained them. Like so many other cases, it had been broken into. Desperately Derrick searched through the debris but did not find their swords. He slammed a fist into a bulkhead and then flexed his fist… feeling the bones shift and heal. The chances that an immortal was involved seemed to be going up. Why else take their swords? _Because they were worth money!_

Derrick looked about the wrecked cargo hold and made a mental survey of what was likely taken and what was left. Electronics seemed to have been taken. He'd yet to find anything down here. Jewelry… there were plenty of items of clothing and toiletries… but no jewelry. He glanced upward. Had the bodies been searched as well? He had to look. He was halfway back to the overhead hatch when he noticed a long thin tube still slung in the cargo net. It looked like a map case… but it might hold a blade. Was it Ren's? He pulled it loose and drew out a modified claymore… long, thin, stout… the weapon of an immortal. It had been altered in length and in the handle so that it could hide securely in most overcoats. Derrick hefted the blade with a smile. Things were looking better.

-----

Some time later, Derrick exited the plane with a backpack filled with foodstuffs and another one filled with bottles of water. The claymore was belted about his waist, and he was fooling with a watch the dead air marshal had been wearing. It evidently had a GPS function. He'd found no cell phones or computers in the overhead holds or on the passengers. Clearly the hijackers' sweep of electronic items had been complete. And… they must have taken them with them. It was a wonder that they'd not found his small reading device that Joe had given him. But then… that had still been hidden in his coat, which had been wadded up under the seat in front of him.

What he didn't expect was Ren's reaction when he saw Derrick exit the plan. The man saw the sword and wailed, rose and tried to flee. Evidently some part of his mind understood about the swords.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he blubbered as Derrick grabbed his arm and slammed him against the plane.

"Listen to me Ren or Warren or whatever you want me to call you… I have no reasons to take your head unless you give me no choice. I need you. Ali needs you."

The last comment seemed to get through to the immortal. "Ali… yes. She's so young… she's had a hard time of it. I have to help her."

Derrick sighed. "We have to have weapons. This was all I could find. If you want it…?"

Ren looked at the sword and then at Derrick… his pale eyes meeting Derrick's blue ones. He shook his head. "No… you carry it."

Derrick nodded. "Very well." He turned from Ren. "How's our friend? We have to get moving soon."

"And follow the trail before it vanishes in the sand," Ren replied with a knowledgeable tone. His eyes cleared momentarily. "I wrote a book once about the French Foreign Legion."

"Based on your experiences?" Derrick teased slightly as he crouched by the mortal and offered the waking man some water.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I was in it… but that doesn't make sense. Maybe it was watching old movies."

Derrick smiled to himself. "Could be." He'd let Alisaunne and Cassandra deal with settling the immortal's troubled mind. Right now, he just wanted him calm enough to be of help.

The mortal coughed up the water and then eyed Derrick with a gap-toothed smile. "Thank you." He looked around. "My wife? My daughter?"

"Likely with the hijackers. Do you feel like trekking to find them?

"Nothing would please me more… except killing a few of those bastards."

Derrick made no reply as he examined the bandage on the man's wounded hand and noticed that it was expertly done. He glanced at Ren. "Were you a doctor too?"

Ren shook his head, his long brown locks tumbling across his face. He pushed them back. "I don't think so. Battle-field surgeon's assistant perhaps."

Derrick rose and glanced at the west. "The sun is going down. We have to get a move on now that the temperature is falling. We'll have to move at night… and swiftly if we hope to find them."

"What about the authorities?" the mortal asked. "Won't they find us here. Won't they be able to fly over and locate Molly and Shannon and the others?"

"They'd have to find the plane first. The hijackers disabled the transponder and the black box… remember? It might be days before they find us. I have a feeling we are nowhere between Rome and Athens… we're someplace else."

"Egypt? Africa? Saudi Arabia?" Ren asked. He was dividing up the foodstuffs and water between the two backpacks.

Ren tapped the watch with GPS. "Somewhere in the Saudi desert I should think. We ready?"

The three men rose.

"I'm Gavin Mulrooney by the way," the mortal said extending a hand and then taking one of the backpacks. Derrick and Ren gave him their names as the three set off in the late afternoon shadows. Behind them, the carrion birds circled lower and lower… and then landed and began to feed.

-----

At first, following the path that the hijackers had taken the others was easy enough. True the wind, slight but there, was blowing away the tracks as the sands shifted and changed, but every few dozen yards, someone had dropped something… a doll… a purse… a coat… something. Eventually, that petered out and only small hollows where feet had been remained… and then even those seemed to cease.

The moon had risen by the time Derrick, Ren, and Gavin had reached the top of an especially tall dune. Around them the landscape shimmered silver and black. As yet, they'd seen nothing but sand. Derrick pointed toward the horizon were a fire seemed to flicker. "That's where we need to go," he said and took another reading from the watch. He shook his head, uncertain how long the watch and GPS would continue to operate. He got his bearings and stepped and slid down the dune, followed by the others.

"We need to stop. We need to rest," Ren insisted.

"They've got quite a head start on us. We need to make up the time," Derrick replied.

Ren grabbed at him. "And do what? If we exhaust ourselves… we'll simply be three more victims for them. We'll be unable to mount a rescue."

Derrick pulled free. "We have to get there first. Keep moving." He turned and continued, no longer caring if the others came or not.

-----


	30. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**Niebos 1 a.m., 2 January 2024:**

The moon shining through the French doors leading to their small balcony played and moved across the floor… creating shapes in the landscape of their room.

Eleanor sighed. She hadn't been able to sleep. In fact, she felt that she had been asleep for too long. She needed to be up and doing something, despite the earliness of the hour. She had spent too much time in recent days, sleeping or passed out or unable to function. She was an immortal and it was time for her to stop behaving like some fainting heroine in a classic novel.

Throwing back the covers she rose, causing Methos to grunt and turn over in his sleep. He'd held her last night… his mind open to her… his fears of losing her and the children at last shared with her. His guilt over the secret memory he'd found and kept replaying without her knowledge, and his horror at what it had unlocked in her once he had, were a part of her now. Her own fears and malaise were shared with him.

In the past few years, they had finally had some semblance of the life that they had once been denied. They knew what it was to live and love together and to have children to raise… children of their own. The impossible had happened… and with luck would happen for others of their kind.

Her feet hit the cold parquet floor. She flexed her toes and rose with a stretch. Ever since Derrick had returned a few weeks ago, she'd let others dictate what she should and should not do. To keep the peace of this place, she'd ignored Sarah Manning and let the young immortal's presence subdue her until she was little more than a shell. In the past few days, she'd demurred again and again and she'd become a victim of her own shyness. She'd retreated to that child she'd once been… and had lost the immortal she'd become. It was time to reassert who she was.

Pulling on a thin robe, she eased quietly out of their room and descended the stairs in the nearly dark house. She could see a thin light glowing around the closed but not locked door of Phillip's study. The light flickered and she figured he had the television set on. He probably wanted to be able to tell her the latest news when she rose. Well she'd give him a few moments longer.

Eleanor passed through the dining room and into the kitchen where another light glowed. Someone had left the indirect lighting under the cabinets on again she figured. But when she entered, she also saw a figure hunched at one end of the long table that was usually used for food prep.

"John?" she asked as the figure glanced up at her. "Is something wrong with Hope?"

The immortal shook his head. "Hope? No… she's sleeping soundly. I was just restless. You too?"

Eleanor could smell coffee sitting in the carafe on the burner and turned to pour herself a cup. "A bit. I want to check and see if there's been any news about Derrick and the others."

"But you have to have black gold to fortify you first?" he teased with gentle laughter.

Eleanor held up her steaming cup. "Ah yes… nectar of the gods… coffee the breakfast of parents."

John laughed merrily and it was good to hear. Eleanor turned to leave when his voice halted her.

"Eleanor… I'd like to ask you something," he said. She turned back toward him.

"Anything," Eleanor replied.

"You know the kind of immortal I was for most of my life. You saw some of the repercussions of my actions. I was a killer, a beast, a mercenary, a man who lived to make money no matter who died."

Eleanor nodded. She had once been witness to the aftermath of one of his actions… the slaughter of over two dozen school children in Cambodia. That was when she'd found the nearly comatose James Horton. Her stomach twisted inside of her. This was twice in the past twenty-four hours that she'd thought of him. Had Kage, as John had been known then, not left those children behind, perhaps she wouldn't have had to save Horton… or perhaps he'd never developed his hatred of immortals and killed Darius. Was what happened to Darius, John "Kage" Kirin's fault? Like some sort of serpent slithering over her arm, the thought slithered about in her mind.

Eleanor shook her head. "You are no longer that man. All of us are the sum of all we knew or did. To forget any part of that is to risk madness and a loss of self."

John nodded. "I don't want to forget. I have to remember what I did or my atonement becomes meaningless." His troubled gaze met Eleanor's.

She sighed and rubbed her brow before setting the coffee down on the table and pulling up one of the stools to face him. "Loss of self is the most dangerous thing that can happen to us John. If we forget who we are, then within the Quickening of an opponent we can lose ourselves. Duncan has shown us that. His experience with a a walk on the dark side and his recovery has helped us understand that precarious balance we all have."

"No… no… I'm not talking about losing who I am. I know who I was and each and every day I strive to be better than that. I'm over thirteen hundred years old. I have a lot of atoning to do. No… my question is more personal. You and Adam… you have this precious relationship that allows the two of you to truly connect."

Intrigued, Eleanor nodded as she sipped her coffee. "Go on."

"Grace and I have been discussing taking the same step… but I'm still uncertain. What if my past overwhelms her? How could she love me if she sees all that I've done and reveled in."

"She knows about it though… right?"

John nodded. "I've never kept secrets from her… but it's one thing to know that one's lover has been a bad boy and another to actually see the things he's done. I don't want to lose her."

Eleanor smiled to herself. "Trust me when I say this John, Adam has done far worse than you can ever imagine, and I still love him."

John gazed at her curiously. "Worse? What's worse than killing for money?"

"For pleasure? For the sheer joy of doing so?" she replied mysteriously. Methos' true identity was still a secret from most on this island. It was safer that way.

John nodded. "I never took pleasure in killing either immortals or mortals… they just weren't important enough to consider. Pleasure? Really?"

Eleanor shrugged. "Talk to him sometime. He may tell you about it." She rose, "Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment," he laughed. "Though I still don't have any answers, you've still given me some things to consider. I think I'm off to bed."

"Then my work here is done," she laughed with a curtsy and then grabbed her coffee as she headed toward Phillip's study. She could hear John mounting the wide marble stairs toward the second floor.

Eleanor eased open the door. Phillip was dozing in his desk chair while the television, still on a twenty-four hour news channel, cast a reflective and flickering glow about the room. She eased among the artifacts on the floor until she stood next to him. The remote was clutched in one of his hands.

Sighing she focused instead on the commentator and the loop of film that was pretty much the same as earlier today… that of stock footage of the plane… or one like it…taxiing on a runway and then in flight. She sighed. Authorities still hadn't found the vanished plane and had no clue where to start looking. Its transponder had stopped working shortly after takeoff and then it had dropped below radar while over the Mediterranean and vanished. No wreckage had yet been found.

If what Tyler Burke had said was true, _They're looking on the wrong place._ Methos and Phillip had told Masahiro last night to get the ship ready and to go where Burke urged them to go. It didn't really make sense, but Burke clearly had some psychic link to Derrick or perhaps Cassandra. He knew where they were. Or where they would be. That was the rub of all this. Burke's vision might simply be telling him where he needed to be to pick them up… not where they were now.

Eleanor set her coffee down on Phillip's desk and shifted the globe in its nearby stand until she stared at the eastern Mediterranean… Greece… and the spot that Masahiro had indicated on the Saudi coast. She backtracked her finger to the plane's last known position and stared at the distance it had to have flown to reach that area. She shook her head. Methos was right. It couldn't be where the plane went down… it had to be elsewhere… and yet… Her mind drifted to the possibility that Burke was right. Perhaps she should go with them.

It would be good for her to be out and about and to be an immortal once more. Maybe she'd been lover and mother too long and needed the break. She smiled as she considered getting into fighting shape once more… not that she wanted to hunt… but to be able to protect others as she had in recent centuries. She hummed lightly and then chuckled.

She sensed more than heard Phillip rise to stand behind her. His breath was hot on her shoulder and came in sharp blasts.

"I see there's nothing new about Derrick," she said and spun the globe lightly.

"Nothing new," her teacher replied in a strange voice. She felt one of his hands rest on her right shoulder. Then his fingers inched toward her neck and the scar that was placed there. She shrugged him off, wondering what he thought he was doing.

"Tease," he hissed darkly and grabbed her by both arms. "Look at you flouncing around half-dressed." He forced his mouth onto hers and inserted his tongue roughly into her mouth.

She struggled and tried to wrench free… her mind screamed for help even as she realized she couldn't make a sound.

Phillip pulled back and clasped both hands on her neck. "You like it rough. You have to if you put up with Methos."

Eleanor's eyes widened at the tone he used when he said the name of her lover. She gasped, still unable to make a sound. She raised both hands to his and clawed at them. She lifted one leg to kick him. She didn't get the chance.

He lifted her off the floor so that she dangled like a broken doll, and all the while he squeezed her throat tighter and tighter. His eyes were wild… his pupils dilated… and behind him images of destruction played out over the television set. Eleanor could smell seawater on him as if he'd been in the ocean.

Phillip laughed maniacally as her struggles grew weaker and weaker. The darkness of unconsciousness was taking command of her senses.

"Let her go!" Methos' voice seemed to roar through her mind even as she gasped her last.

-----

Eleanor's voice in his head… desperate and frightened… woke Methos. Without a second thought, he rose from the bed and raced down the hallway. He could feel her slipping away from him. Where was she? At the top of the stairs, he felt both her and Phillip on the main floor. Nothing in Eleanor's cry of help made sense. It was as if that cry came from some terrified part of her. Had there been news of Derrick? He raced down the stairs and into Phillip's study. The sight that met his eyes was not what he expected.

"Let her go!" he yelled at Phillip.

Phillip turned and grinned wickedly. He snapped Eleanor's neck and tossed her broken body across the room. "Make me," he laughed.

Methos launched himself at his friend and was tossed to one side. His head banged against the edge of the Phillip's desk. He slid across the floor, dislodging carefully placed artifacts. Once he stopped, he rubbed his jaw where the desk had nicked him and spit blood onto the floor, and then he launched himself at Phillip once more. This time he bore him to the floor where both men exchanged blows as they rolled and fought.

Methos rained down blows on Phillip while Phillip pummeled the face of his oldest friend. Neither was aware of anything except the rage they felt. Their battle wreaked havoc on the room… breaking furniture and crushing some of the artifacts that had lasted for millennia. The reason for their fight did not cross their minds as blow after blow landed.

When they rolled near Eleanor and kicked her unknowingly… she gasped back to life, confused and dazed. Seeing the fight, she scrambled to her feet, still unable to talk and rubbing her throat. Stumbling to Phillip's wall-safe, she spun the tumblers, one of only three who knew the combination, and hurriedly opened the door. She reached blindly in until her hand closed around the hilt of Phillip's sword, likely the last one used, and pulled it out. With both hands she raised it and then swung it down on the combatants… so that the flat of the blade struck them both.

"Stop it!" she managed to croak out.

Both men looked up at her and then both scrambled for the sword. Methos got it first, wrenched it from her hands and then swung at Phillip who ducked and dodged the blow.

"Noooo!!" screamed Eleanor hoarsely. "You have to stop!"

Phillip backed away from Methos slightly… his eyes glittering. "Come on…" he said and wriggled his fingers in invitation. "Do you think I don't know my own weapon? Do you think I'd fear it?"

Methos ran the back of one hand over his mouth. "I have known more ways to kill a man than you can imagine." His voice was that of Death.

"Don't kill him! Something's wrong with him! Something's wrong with you! With me!" Eleanor screamed. She beat at Methos' arm. He pushed her away roughly and then put both hands on the shortsword as he readied to impale Phillip. He thrust forward.

Phillip evaded the move, twirled and lashed out with one foot into Methos' gut. He stumbled as he fought to get back his breath and his footing. Methos didn't get the chance. Phillip was already turning in an elaborate set of steps that Eleanor recognized all too well… the steps that echoed the pattern of Death. Phillip's left hand beat down on Methos' shoulder with such force that the ancient loosened his grip on the shortsword even as he tried to turn. Phillip easily pulled it from his lax hands and pushed him off.

He rose to his full height as he considered the taller Methos and then he grinned as he twirled the sword around in his hands.

"No!" yelled Eleanor and launched herself at Phillip. With one hand he pushed her away. She slid across the floor and landed in a heap against the door. With horrified eyes she watched Phillip impale Methos and then withdraw the blade as his opponent wavered and then fell to his knees. Phillip stood over his kneeling friend with the sword raised. His eyes glittered madly. Methos looked up at him and then at Eleanor.

_I love you!_ he sent.

_I love you,_ Eleanor sobbed, wondering how to stop Phillip.

What did stop him was Methos. He rose upward with a hiss of pain and met his friend's gaze. "Do it quickly."

Phillip shook his head and stumbled back. Then he reached down and lifted Methos by the neck and held him against the wall, his sword at his friend's throat. For what seemed like minutes they stood without moving, without a sound except for their rasping breath.

Slowly Phillip lowered the sword and backed away. "I don't know what came over me."

Eleanor raced to the slumping Methos. He held her tightly before kissing her. Then he reached over and easily plucked the sword from Phillip's hand. "I think I better hold that."

Phillip nodded and turned away, still shaking his head. "Something's not right. Something strange is happening to me." He turned back to the lovers. "I have to leave. I have to be by myself. I have to figure this out."

"You'll get no argument from me," snapped Methos. Around him there still clung the edgy menace of Death.

Outside in the hallway, steps and voices could be heard. Clearly the fight had aroused others.

Methos turned and shoved the sword back into the safe. "I think it's time we rethink who has access to the swords."

"Yes," Phillip agreed. At the sound of pounding on the door, he yelled out, "We're fine. Go back to bed. We just had a minor collision."

The door opened anyway and Greg Powers stuck his head in. "Your sure?"

Methos, still holding onto Eleanor, waved his other hand. "We're fine. We just had a small accident."

Greg glanced at all three of them and shook his head. Clearly he didn't believe them. Nevertheless he withdrew and closed the door. They could hear voices that gradually faded away.

"So what next?" Methos asked.

Phillip rubbed his hands. "It's Kingsley's Quickening, I guess. It's been on my mind. It'd been so long since I took one… I guess I'd forgotten the side-effects."

"No," Eleanor insisted as she freed herself from Methos and stepped closer to Phillip. "It's more than that. I keep feeling helpless and a victim. Everyone is on edge." She turned to Methos. "It's what I was trying to explain yesterday. It's why I wanted to take the children away from here. Ever since the tsunami… we've all been having dreams or questioning who and what we are and what we're doing here. It's Nestor. It has to be." She turned to Phillip. "And you've spent more time in that cove than any of us. He's found a way to influence you through your guilt about Kingsley's death."

"I don't feel guilt for killing that slime-ball," Phillip roared defiantly. Then he sank into his desk-chair and held his face in his hands. He looked up. "I have to get away for a few days."

"Where?" Methos asked. Clearly his tone showed he was still angry.

"The far side of the island. There's that cottage over there I was having fixed up for Sister Luke before her death. I'll go there."

"Without a weapon," Methos sniped.

"That goes without saying," Philip nodded. "I broke the peace of this island to protect it. I have to find it again. I have to restore balance and I can't think here with so many others around." He rose. "I'll see you in a few days. Pivoting, he strode from the room, and passed out of the house unseen except for a pair of eyes watching him from the upper floor.

As he left, Kenny stared after him and then returned to his rooms wondering how to use the current situation to his advantage. Finally, he might have a chance to make the swordmaster pay.

Methos turned Eleanor in his arms. "I feared I would lose you."

"It's more than that."

"I know. The darkness is still in me as it always was. But I've had lots of practice in controlling it." He kissed her passionately until her knees buckled and she pulled back with a gasp. She struggled free.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now. You're still acting strangely."

"Bitch!" he snarled and grabbed for her. Eleanor leaped into the air, twisting as she did so and landed a good blow on his chin. She hit the ground with a crouch and then rose, ready for the next move if he attacked again.

He was rubbing his groin. "Fine then. You sleep alone and if you want me… you'll have to come crawling." He turned and left, heading for Phillip's bedroom where he slammed the door and roared in frustration.

-----

Sarah had watched through the cracked open door of her room and gasped as Adam had entered Phillip's room across the hall and slammed the door. Evidently he and his wife had just had a whale of a fight. He could be hers tonight… she knew it. She just had to wait until he was calmer. She'd show him how much she cared… how much she was the one he truly loved. He just didn't know it yet.

Humming she turned to her dressing table and began to brush her hair and apply makeup and perfume. The melody of a song from **_West Side Story_** played in her mind as she pulled on her sexiest negligee. "_Sarah's gonna get her kicks tonight!_"

-----


	31. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Niebos, later:**

Inside a cabinet of Phillip's room, Methos had found some wine… some very good wine and polished off several bottles. He sprawled now on the bed, drinking and tasting again and again that kiss he'd given Eleanor. _What was wrong with her? I'm her husband! She should respond to my advances!_ After all, he'd nearly lost his head trying to save her from Phillip. Fury whipped through him once more as he focused on the Greek. He should never have trusted him… not two thousand years ago… and certainly not now. He blinked heavily and burped until at last his hand holding the bottle dropped off the bed… and the bottle slid to the floor, spilling the last of its contents.

With what was left of his consciousness, he reached out for her mentally and whispered again, _I love you_! Then, he began to snore and to dream.

-----

Returning to her room, Eleanor had bathed her throat in warm water and stared bleary-eyed into the mirror. The bruises were already fading. Time was she might have had them for days if not weeks. Her system had never healed as fast as most immortals, but in recent years… especially after the children were born… she'd seemed to heal faster. Still… it shouldn't have happened at all.

"Stupid… stupid… stupid!" she railed at herself. "Never let your guard down around any of them… never!" Methos had once taught her but since coming here, she had become complacent and an easy mark. She would never have lasted so long if she'd acted like she had today with immortals in the outer world.

Crossing the room, she rummaged through some clothes in the closet until she came up with a knife. It was forbidden… but she had one hidden anyway… as did almost everyone else she assumed. She performed a few balancing tricks with it to assure herself that she still knew how to use it, and then she began to dress carefully as if she were planning to fight a challenge. It had been a long time since she'd had one… deep within her she sensed that Kae Dhun was anxious to kill again. Unlike other times… she didn't push him down or ignore his quickening within her… she reveled in it.

She was admiring herself in the mirror when Methos' thought reached her.

_I love you!_ and then it was gone and his mind once more closed to her. For a moment she faltered in her resolve. Then she held up her knife with a wicked grin. "Whom shall we visit first?" she laughed and then skipped out of her room and down the hall.

-----

Since all of the bedrooms at Phillip's were full, Madrigal had bunked in with the Denara as she had years ago, while Micah was with the boys in their room. Madrigal found it strange to have finally moved beyond her enforced childhood only to revisit it. As always though, she found Denara far older than her physical form would suggest.

After Marianna had fallen asleep, Denara and Madrigal had sat up for a while whispering. "What's it like?" Denara wanted to know. "What's it like to really be loved?"

Madrigal blushed and lowered her head. "It's like nothing I'd ever have imagined. I didn't know if Micah even could, you know. He's younger physically than me… but he cares so much."

"So you found a way," Denara laughed.

"So we found a way." Madrigal sighed, recalling their first tentative kisses and then their resolve to explore what they were feeling. _Like Romeo and Juliet_, she thought. Two children who grew up too fast. Except that in their case… they'd never grow up. _More like Peter Pan and Wendy._

About then they'd heard a crash from downstairs and had gone out into the hall to investigate. Marianna thankfully was sleeping deeply and had heard nothing. Greg had been the one to actually investigate while the rest of them… almost the entire household, had clustered on the stairs. Finally assured that all was well, they'd returned to their rooms.

Denara had a t last succumbed to sleep and Madrigal sat in the glow of the night lamp as she stared at both of the little ones. Denara had always been a bit of a mystery. While Madrigal had learned to fight… she'd never had to. Denara knew how though. Denara had taken a few quickenings. For one so small… she had learned how to manage it. Marianna on the other hand was something else. Pre-immortal and yet strange beyond words. Even now her chubby hands clasped the crystal ball she'd appropriated. Madrigal could see nothing interesting about it beyond an odd glow, but Marianna kept talking about animals and about places she'd never seen.

Madrigal drew her legs up as she sat watching the two sleep. She smiled at the innocent and the not so innocent who seemed in many ways, so much alike. She glanced up as the door opened.

"Eleanor? Anything wrong?"

The raven-haired immortal stared at the tableau in the bed and bit her lip. "I just wanted to check on Marianna," she said softly. Madrigal thought there was something odd about the way she'd halted just inside the door, and the way she stood, one arm held behind her.

"What happened downstairs?" Madrigal asked.

"What? Oh just a fall that took out the furniture," she said and then sighed. "I'll be going now." She vanished behind the closed door.

Madrigal could still feel Eleanor just outside in the hallway… and… she thought she heard sobbing.

-----

Watching Grace nursing Hope gave John both peace of mind and worry. She'd seemed so standoffish tonight. She'd fussed over Hope to the exclusion of all else until he'd gone downstairs for coffee and to clear his head. Talking with Eleanor hadn't really dealt with his concerns… but he did have plans to see just how Adam had handled his past with Eleanor… and if he'd share that with him.

Even when there had been that crash and the sound of fighting downstairs, Grace hadn't moved. Now… she was feeding Hope again and if John didn't know better, she kept glancing at him guiltily. What did she have to feel guilty over? He wished Hope were with Powers tonight. He wanted to pull Grace into his arms and make love to her slowly… gently.

Hope finished and dropped off to sleep. Grace rocked her for several minutes, humming a lullaby and then, almost reluctantly, put her in her cradle and rocked it.

"Come to bed," John said softly.

Grace closed her gown and came, stretching once she'd lain down and then rolling to her side… facing away from him.

"Have I angered you?" John prodded.

"No… I'm just tired. I had a long day."

"You didn't ask about the fight downstairs."

Grace shrugged. "I figured you'd tell me." She clearly seemed not interested in his tale. He told it anyway.

"I think Phillip and Adam were fighting."

"Why would they fight?"

John shook his head and casually ran his hand over Grace's arm. "I don't know. Maybe it had to do with Eleanor or with Derrick."

Grace rested her head on one hand and sighed. "That doesn't make sense. Both are so calm and observing most of the time. Why the two of them act like paternal figures observing their children and grandchildren when they watch the rest of us."

"They've known each other longer than I've been alive," John admitted with a chuckle. "Maybe fights are a part of life and growth."

"Maybe," Grace mused and then rolled onto her back. She gazed soberly up at John. "Maybe that's what worries me. We don't fight."

John laughed. "Why should we fight?"

"Well… if one of us did something the other didn't like for instance?"

John laughed. "What could you do that I wouldn't love?"

Grace's eyes widened but she said nothing. Then she rolled over to turn out the light. "I have an early day tomorrow. Night John."

His face fell. He was losing her. He knew it. She was here with him but she was moving on. She had Hope now and didn't need him. She had the child she wanted and had no need of the father. For a moment, slithering through his thoughts, came one that suggested he just rape her and be done with it… it was what he wanted to do. It was how he'd always treated women over the centuries.

John nearly gagged at the thought. Not Grace! Never loving and patient Grace! The slimy thought vanished, but left a bitter taste in his mouth. His past was always with him. He had to learn to control it. He had to atone for that past. John closed his eyes and thought of a conversation he'd once had with Darius before the priest had died.

"_Who we are depends on who we were. To forget what we were is to deny who we are. We are the sum of all our lives… and we need to remember that… always._"

Eleanor had said much the same earlier. But then she'd been Darius' student at one time. John nestled down into the bed and was thankful that when he did so, Grace turned and curled next to him. Maybe he was reading too much into her actions tonight. Maybe… she really _was_ just very tired. He kissed her hair as he wrapped his arms about her loosely and closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow they could talk about bonding again.

-----

Following the brouhaha downstairs, Greg Powers returned to his room in a funk and continued to pace and snarl. It had been his night to care for Hope and Grace had decided to keep the infant with her tonight. Greg felt it was a slap in the face over what had happened between them. She was avoiding him, but at dinner, they'd reached for salt at the same time and their hands had touched. Both had pulled them back as if shocked and then laughed, telling others it must have been static. She avoided his glance and she turned from him when he entered a room.

He should have taken her when she'd offered there in the lab and he didn't know why he'd rejected her. He'd said it was because he didn't want it to be a fling but something real and lasting. Greg felt the loneliness of his life and his nihilistic attitude lay just beneath his more positive surface. Duncan might have recognized what was happening… but Duncan wasn't here. He was off gallivanting around Europe or Asia with Amanda he assumed. Greg wondered if anyone would ever love him that way… enough to want to spend even a few years with him.

What was the purpose of life if love was not a part of it?

_Power! Being the one!_ came the sinuous voice that had been teasing at his thoughts for weeks. Greg shook his head. He really ought to talk to someone about that… but whom? Certainly not _Grace!_ For a moment he visualized ravishing her… shoving glass beakers and test tubes off the counter so that they shattered on the concrete floor. He ripped her clothes open and took her… even as she moaned and clawed his back urging him on.

Again Greg shook his head. This was pointless. He hadn't done it. He wouldn't do that! He didn't know why such thoughts kept bothering him. He wanted to sleep… but a deep and dreamless sleep seemed denied him. What he needed, then, was a good stiff drink or two… or three. He clicked off his lights and opened his door to descend to the main room. Phillip had a liquor cabinet down there that surely would have something to help him sleep without dreams.

-----

Somewhere the other side of dreams, Methos was hard put to decide if he felt an immortal first or the female crouching over him, letting her long dark hair shower down on his chest. She'd ripped open his shirt and had let the hair tickle and arouse him.

_Eleanor?_ he thought through his alcoholic daze. There was no reply. He tried to pull her closer, only for her to hold his arm down. Gods but she smelled good. He let her hold both of his hands over his head and shifted beneath her crouch. Over his groin. She was running her tongue along his chest now… biting him occasionally. He groaned and drew up his legs slightly before extending them again.

Then he felt the tip of something sharp sliding along his skin. He opened his eyes and tried to see in the darkness what was happening.

"Shhh!" she said. "I know what I'm doing."

Methos relaxed and focused on the blade as it trailed up and down his side, chuckling as it hit a ticklish spot. He could throw her off in an instant if he wanted to… her hold on his hands was so slight. But maybe she needed to feel in control… fully in control. He tried again to reach her mind and was again rebuffed. "What is it you're up to?" he finally whispered.

"This," she said and kissed him, letting her tongue rub sinuously against his. She released his hands as she moved that hand down to undo his trousers. The knife still moved on his side. _Life_ _Death_ _Fire_ _Water_

One by one she drew the symbols; he felt the blade pierce his skin; he felt blood flow. He raised his head to nip at her lips. She rammed the knife into the headboard even as he embraced her and rolled over onto her. "My turn," he whispered and pulled the knife free.

-----

Had Sarah Manning been a bit swifter in getting ready… in choosing the perfect scent, lotion, makeup, gown, hairstyle… she might have been the one straddling Adam in Phillip's darkened bedroom. As it was, just as she had opened the door, she'd seen Eleanor ease through Phillip's door. She'd failed to close the door and Sarah had peeked through the opening at the two of them… in some sort of immortal S and M. Sarah understood those moves all too well. She used them on her lovers, but it surprised her to see that shy and quiet little Eleanor knew of them.

Sarah backed away, her heart in her mouth and feeling ill. Cleary she had missed her moment. And now, more than ever, she wanted Eleanor dead. But how could she accomplish it and yet still have Adam's love?

She turned away to descend the staircase thoughtfully. She was restless now and needed… something.

"Who's there?" came the slurring voice from the main room. Sarah paused and a small smile crept across her mouth.

"Greg? What are you doing down here?"

"Huh?" Greg Powers replied. Sarah smiled. The young doctor was drunk and clearly morose about something. She knew he'd had a tryst with Grace and that since then the two of them tried to pretend the other didn't exist. Perhaps the good doctor was just what she needed.

She crossed to him, aware that the moonlight from without made her negligee shine as though it were made of spun silver. She leaned over him, letting her perfumed hang over his head like a cloud… letting her hair dangle loose and whisper against his skin. "Can I do anything for you?" she asked breathlessly. It was something she'd been taught in her mortal life once she'd been ushered into the ways of the bordello. "Give the customer what he wants… within reason," the other whores had told her. "Let him think he's in charge."

Sarah had been very good at letting them think they were in charge. As an immortal she preferred to be in charge and the one recent time she'd let another be in charge… she'd ended up with Kingsley… that psycho! Still… there were ways to maintain the upper hand.

Lightly she brushed her lips against his and then pulled back to take the glass from his hand. She smiled and downed it in one swift swallow. Then she set the glass down next to him. "What shall we do now?"

He leaned forward suddenly and kissed her, even as his arms slipped around her waist and then pulled her onto his lap. Sarah squirmed a bit and felt his response. "That's it," she whispered and reached down to slip a hand inside his sweatpants. He was going to be so easy to control. Cassandra had taught her how to use sex to control men even immortal men. Now was her chance! Greg Powers could become her tool for killing Eleanor. Adam would kill Greg… and then he'd turn to Sarah to help him raise those pre-immortal brats. Using lots of tongue action, Sarah kissed Greg back.

Before long, they were on the sofa, the floor, the dining room table and the kitchen prep table… as she straddled and cajoled him into exploring different positions and different depths of pain and pleasure. He was putty in her hands.

-----

Kenny smirked as he watched the two immortals roll and couple on the floor of the main room. He'd had to wait until he was certain the other four boys were asleep before getting up and creeping downstairs. With Chou's return along with Micah's… the room was getting crowded and Kenny didn't want to be regarded as one of them. Already, they were closing him out some. That was all right. Besides… it would free him up to take care of Phillip.

The boyman fingered the knife he'd hidden and secured down his pants leg. Phillip would pay for all the indignities he'd heaped on Kenny. He slipped out of the house, noticing the nearly full moon hanging low in the western sky. Dawn would be here soon. There was only one place Phillip might have gone to stay… to be away from the others… and Kenny knew where it was.

Silently he eased out of the house and traveled unseen along the graveled path across the island.

-----


	32. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

**Somewhere in the desert, January 2024, the following morning:**

Two hours after sunrise, the trio of men finally stopped in the shadows of a dune, unable to go further. Carefully they drank some of the water and ate some of the rations that Derrick had packed and then curled into the shadowy sands to rest and perchance to dream.

Derrick rested… but did not sleep. He needed to still be moving… but Gavin was dead on his feet and having brought him along… Derrick would not let him die. Surely if Gavin were weary… then the mortal women were likely about to start dropping soon.

The glow of the campfire had been his compass all night, and it had seemed towards dawn to be just over the next set of dunes. But they'd crossed the next set of dunes and still had not found even the remnants of the campsite. Where were they? If he tried reaching out to sense another immortal… he only felt Ren.

The other immortal was calmer, but still confused and still forgetful of his immortality. He'd complained of a buzzing in his head that never stopped. Derrick told him nothing. There would be time enough for that later… or so he hoped. He watched his two companions sleep and he closed his eyes… visualizing the roll of the ship beneath his feet and the feel of fresh salt spray on his face. It was almost real here in this land of desert dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see. Wind ruffled his hair and he worried about it burying any signs of the passing of the others. He had to trust to his sense of direction, the GPS on the watch, and hope that somehow Amber or one of the others would leave a sign.

For a moment he thought of making love to Amber in the grove and how right it had seemed. Being with her had felt right from the very first time they'd made love in her rooms over that bar in the American southwest. That seemed like a lifetime ago. With a chuckle recalling his death yesterday… Derrick supposed it were another lifetime.

"She's fine," he whispered to himself. He couldn't help but worry… but Amber Kathleen Conroy had been well trained, and she knew how to take care of herself. It was one of the things that had amused him… her worry about him… the green immortal just starting out. And yet… there were times when she seemed so very young to him. Likely that was some memory left over from Darius. Was Amber the type of woman that Darius had loved? He'd managed to hold onto his file reader that Joe had given him when the hijackers had collected the electronics; and, after a worried look around at the sand, retrieved it from a pocket and turned it on. He keyed in "_Known Lovers_" and then began to read.

-----

Two hours later, Derrick woke the others. Again they drank water and ate rations, and then started out once more.

"It's high noon… the worst time to travel," Ren had complained.

Derrick nodded. "I know… but the others will be stopped for a while. We can make up time."

"And lose it again if we run out of water."

Derrick nodded. That was the real worry. But surely wherever the hijackers were taking the women and children there was water. Besides, he wanted to look around over that next dune for the overnight campsite.

He found it three dunes over and crouched to consider the fire and the vanishing signs that anyone had been there. He scratched the stubble of his chin thoughtfully as he tried to read what he could of what he saw.

The women had been grouped together… possibly tied… certainly guarded. The men had crouched and slept in shifts about the fire. The women were tired, thirsty, and hungry. It looked like they hadn't gotten any water until just before dawn when they'd set out again. That was when he'd lost the glow of the campfire.

Several belongings were left behind… toys, jackets, coats, purses… anything that the women deemed unimportant lay littered about the area in which they'd slept. Thankfully, Derrick saw no bodies. No more had died as of this morning. But with short rations… he doubted all would make it to wherever they were going.

Outside the campsite he found a familiar coat positioned as if it had been dropped to show the way. "Ali," Derrick whispered and smiled. She'd mentioned living in Tunisia and being trained in the desert by Duncan when she was his student. She'd know what to do.

Derrick memorized the direction and then picked up the coat… shaking it. It was… leather… well made and expensive. Could he manage to take it along and return it to her?

"That's Ali's," Ren said and grabbed it… holding it to his nostrils to smell. He folded it up and tucked it under one arm.

Derrick's eyebrows rose in amusement. Clearly he didn't have to worry about the coat. Ren seemed more than willing to tote it. Instead, Derrick faced the horizon and pointed. "We go that way."

-----

Immortality did not mean that one was invulnerable to exposure, heat, thirst, and bone-weariness. All of these things had begun to sap even Derrick's strength. The others were already lagging behind before he stopped and shaded his eyes from the sun. He could just make out an old truck parked beside a dilapidated wooden shack. Derrick licked his blistered lips and swallowed dryly. "Look!" he croaked and pointed.

For once… the other two even out-paced him. But there was no one there… the truck was long since dead, and the shack had already been pilfered of supplies. Outside the wind was picking up again… it would blow through the broken glass of the windows if it kept up. Already Derrick could see small piles of sand growing in the corners. Still… it would be a place to rest… if only for a little while. He dropped to a pile of rags smelling of gasoline and oil along one side of the room and was asleep even before his head nested among them.

-----

He awoke to darkness and a great roaring overhead.

"Guess it's a good thing you kept pushin' us on," Ren said from the darkness. "Sandstorm moved in not long after you passed out. Here."

Derrick's eyes adjusted to the dim light. Ren sat across from him offering a tin cup of water.

"No thanks," Derrick said with a shake of his hand. "We best save the water."

"Oh… water we got plenty. There's a pipe in here that evidently leads to a well out there." Ren motioned again for Derrick to take the cup.

"Many thanks," Derrick said taking it and lifting it in a toast. The water was metal tasting… but cool and did the trick. He polished it off and handed the cup back.

"More?" Ren asked.

"Maybe later." He looked about. "Old oil pumping station?"

"Looks that way. Likely abandoned after the oil crisis a few years ago."

"Gavin?"

"Passed out exhausted… same as you did. Hell same as we all did. I just woke first. The storm woke me." Ren settled down and crossed his legs. "Not much to do but explore this place. Think it will pass soon?"

"Yes," Derrick assured him. It was already lessening in intensity in just the few moments he'd been awake. His thoughts were more on the equipment at the station and whether there was anything he could use. At least… if there was anything left after all these years. This was likely an equipment shed and overnight bolthole in case of sandstorm. He grinned. Well their finding it had been provident. Then he sobered… concerned about the group they were following. He had no doubts that the hijackers would take care of themselves first and the women and children last. He lowered his face into his arms in defeat. More would die. _What could I have done? What should I have done?_ The questions pounded in his head over and over and he felt guilt that he should live while others died. What made him more worthy of life than the others? Why was he immortal… and then were dead?

"That sword is mine… isn't it?" Ren said hollowly.

Derrick met his glum expression. "Yes… may I continue to carry it?"

"Why do I have a sword?"

Derrick sighed, exhaling heavily. "To kill others like yourself… or like me." He shook his head and nodded at Gavin. The man appeared to be asleep… but it might not be wise to speak of these things.

"That's why my head buzzes like it's in the midst of a swarm of hornets?"

"Yes."

Ren looked off into the distance. "Ali too."

"Yes." Derrick felt honesty and yet answering directly only the questions Ren asked would be best. He needed him clear-headed. Too many answers might confuse him.

"I need her. She's the only person in this insane nightmare that makes sense to me," Ren suddenly said with emotion.

"Then we have to get her back," Derrick agreed.

"Aye," Ren said. And then he chuckled. "My name is Warren. The other woman knew me as Warren."

"I suppose," Derrick chuckled.

"Did Ali give me this name?"

Derrick shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

Ren's eyes moved back and forth as he seemed to think about this. "Ren like a bird and Ali like a side street… I remember that conversation." He nodded with a grin. "We made fun of each other's names… but it didn't matter. I liked her. She liked me." He fingered a small scar on his neck near his Adam's apple. "She plays rough though."

"I dare say she does," agreed Derrick discovering that his sense of humor was back. "Well… the storm will end soon. I want to look around and see if there's anything we can find here that might help us…"

"Kill the bastards," Gavin finished off. He too was awake now. "Aye… I want to kill these men. I want my Molly and Shannon back." He stretched and then sat there looking at the two immortals as if wondering what was next.

Derrick rose and made a survey of the shack. By the time the winds had died down he had collected some things he thought could be used in their journey and the eventual fight that he knew would come. There would be a fight… he was certain of it. Then he pushed open the sand-blocked door to venture out to see what else he could find.

-----


	33. Chapter Thirty One

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**Niebos, January 2024, the following day:**

Jayne Wyndam-Wyatt shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other as she traveled down the gangplank of the morning ferry from Athens. She'd had a lovely holiday with her family in England, but it was good to get home and back to work. The young Watcher nearly laughed aloud as she considered that even after so short a time, she felt at home here and had fretted being away these few weeks.

"Take lots of notes," she'd teased Phillip and kissed his cheek as he'd seen her off a few weeks ago.

"Oh… I don't foresee anything happening here while you're gone," the Greek immortal had replied with a chortle. "Just us few here. We'll be busy with the rebuilding efforts and the like. Pretty much the same as the last two months."

Jayne could still see new construction near the wharf where the _tsunami_ had come ashore. The village had been inundated and the lower areas covered by the wave. Thankfully the alert had been sounded in time and deaths were few, as the residents had fled up the mountain.

While spending some time with her father over the holidays had meant the world to her, she'd worried about the immortals here. She'd truly missed the small ones, the children, Eleanor and the others; but she had most of all missed her primary assignment… Methos… the world's oldest immortal. She'd sort of inherited the job of watching him from her father who still missed the "ROG" the "really old guy" as he tended to call him. After all… no one within the Watcher organization really used the name Methos in case someone who didn't know about him… and there were many… would get suspicious. Timothy Wyatt, her father, had devised the curious nickname for him that would sound like a modern name and would not lead anyone else to the conclusion that the fairly new immortal named Adam Pierson was in fact the mythical immortal Methos.

She'd missed them all. She wondered if she'd even been thought of in the three weeks she'd been gone.

As she walked along the dock, she noticed a sailing vessel moored there and several people aboard looking as if they were ready to make sail soon. She found that interesting and wondered why they had put in here. But it was a passing interest as she headed into town and walked along the repaved streets and sidewalks and noticed the fresh coats of paint everywhere. Phillip had personally promised his people that he would do everything he could to help them recover from the damage of the _tsunami_. The first step had been the removal of mud and silt. Jayne could still see a few signs of that on upper levels… but basically… things were going well. She could see improvements in the short time she'd been gone.

She began to hum as she caught sight of the two-story villa on the hillside and her pace quickened. Jayne was glad to be home and it showed in her gait, her smile, and her attitude. In her mid-twenties, Jayne was an attractive if somewhat quiet young woman whose enthusiasm for research had helped in her chosen profession and had endeared her to both Eleanor and Methos when she'd been assigned to them in Virginia. Events since June had caused some things to change. Her two-year residence with them was coming to an end… and the Watcher in residence on the island (a life-long position because of the secrets here) had retired. Methos had evidently used his pull along with her father's to get her this plum assignment. While her chronicles of life here would be locked and not available for the rank and file to read… they would exist and chronicle this experiment of immortals living together and creating a community just as they might once have done.

By this time, Jayne had reached the _portico_. She stamped her feet lightly, more from habit than need, and rubbed them on the mat before opening the door. _Breakfast_, she thought happily, as she sniffed the aromas in the air and heard voices in the dining room. Setting her bags on the floor, she headed there.

Just short of the doorway she came face to face with two young people who were leaving breakfast. She didn't know them and held out her hand to them to assure them all was fine as they looked at her startled. "Good morning, I'm Jayne Wyndam-Wyatt, Watcher in residence." If they were staying at the villa, they had to be immortal.

"Oh, right," the boy said. He tossed his head so that his shaggy brown hair momentarily left his eyes before slipping back over them. "Yeah, the other guy left… didn't he?" He shook her hand ceremonially, pumping it a bit. "I'm Micah."

The girl, shy as a dove stepped back from Jayne and bit her lip

Jayne smiled at her. "And this must be Marisol."

"Madrigal," Micah corrected her.

"Madrigal. Sorry. I read the files but confused your name. It's a lovely name by the way." Jayne said with a small smile.

Madrigal still hung back, eyeing Jayne suspiciously.

Jayne sighed, "Right… we shall have to have a chat in a few days when you're ready. I shan't trouble you until then. I shall have a thousand questions I'm certain about where you went and your adventures." She bubbled with enthusiasm at the thought.

Micah clasped Madrigal's hand. She clasped her other one atop of his as he led the two of them towards the door. "Right… we'll talk… but not now." The two literally raced from the house.

Jayne watched the two young people (small ones she mentally corrected) exit hurriedly through the door. That clasp of hands had already told her so much about the two of them. But that would come later… as well as when they'd returned. She turned again to enter the dining room only to be nearly run over by two others exiting in a hurry.

One ball of enthusiasm ran straight into her. He looked up at her and grinned as he backed away.

"Chou," Jayne cried and hugged him. "You're safe! You're home!"

"Hi Jayne," he mumbled, his voice muffled in her embrace.

Denis, the other one fairly jumped with enthusiasm beside him. "Chou just got back Jayne. He was caught up in a fishing net. He made the news… Fish Boy!"

Jayne held the small one at arms length. "Fish Boy?"

"Oh man," the tiny Oriental Chou complained. "I'm never gonna live that one down. Jayne… please don't put it in my chronicle? Please?"

Jayne laughed and gave him another hug. "Just for you… I might be able to omit that detail."

"Thanks, Jayne. You're the best," the boy said hugging her again before motioning to Denis. "Let's go! There's so much I want to see."

"Hey wait for me," J.D. prompted from the doorway. "Oh… hi Jayne." The boy gave her a wave as the three of them headed out the front door. Whatever they were up to, it looked like they were in a hurry. Jayne turned and wondered where Kenny was. He was usually with them, but no Kenny emerged from the doorway. She entered and saw the group around the table.

"Morning everyone, Happy New Year. I'm back."

-----

Grace, sipping coffee looked up at Jayne with a smile. Beside her, John "Kage" Kirin was holding aloft their infant daughter Hope and playing with her. He turned and nodded to Jayne while he addressed Grace. "I wouldn't worry about Greg. Maybe he's out for a walk."

"But he's supposed to watch Hope today. This isn't like him."

"I'll watch Hope… I can you know."

Grace sat back and regarded John thoughtfully. "Of course you can… it's just that I kept her last night so I could have the day free and I wanted to make it up to Greg."

"Well if and when he shows up, I'll make certain he gets to have time with her. Who knows, maybe the two of us can have a talk while we play with her."

Grace didn't seem to take that well, Jayne noticed. She seemed ill at ease about John and Greg Powers spending time together. Jayne wondered what had happened between the three of them in her absence. "Yes," Grace finally nodded. "That would be fine. Well I have rounds today and I'm late. Katherine will be wondering where I am. _Ciao_ everyone." She rose, bent to kiss Hope and then John before leaving. As she passed Jayne she touched her arm. "Glad you're back safely." And then she was gone.

John laughed and cradled the laughing infant in his arms. "Daddy's girl! You're Daddy's girl today!" He seemed ecstatic.

Jayne filled a plate at the buffet. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be back. Even the food smells fresher and more appetizing." She turned in time to see Methos and Eleanor, positively glowing, feed one another and share a kiss that left little to the imagination. Methos' arm was around Eleanor and the two acted like newlyweds.

"Have a good Christmas?" Jayne teased as she sat opposite them.

Methos kissed Eleanor's nose. "Well a good New Year's anyway."

Eleanor laughed; her green eyes sparkled in the morning shafts of sunlight as she focused on Methos. "A new year… that has such delightful connotations." They kissed hungrily again.

Jayne raised her eyebrows. While the couple had always been affectionate in the two and a half years she'd known them, this seemed new. They were usually a little more private than this in front of others.

Both turned to regard her, their heads touching, Methos' fingers playing with Eleanor's hair near her neck. He raised an eyebrow at Jayne. "Well we were separated a lot last year with the search for Derrick… and then there was trying to find MacLeod and the whole de Valicourt business… and then the _tsunami_ and its aftermath. It just took a while for us to rekindle things."

"Looks like a bonfire," chuckled Jayne.

"Indeed… fiery, tempestuous, consuming," he said teasingly as he kissed Eleanor again. In mid-kiss Marianna pulled at his arm.

"Want Opa! Where's Opa?"

On the other side of the small girl, Denara rolled her eyes. But it looked to Jayne as if the tiny immortal had been crying.

Methos kissed Eleanor lightly, teasingly and then pulled back to turn and lift Marianna from her chair into his lap. Jayne noticed the odd crystal the child clutched and wondered if it were a Christmas present. She made a mental note to ask the child about it later. She adored both of the children… but Marianna had always been her favorite.

"Uncle Phillip has gone walkabout on the island, Princess. He'll be back in a few days, I'm sure."

Eleanor leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "He just needed a break from being around so many of us. We have sort of taken over his solitary retreat."

"Oh," Jayne replied without unconcern.

An unfamiliar voice cleared his throat behind her. "Forgive me for interrupting but we are ready to weigh anchor."

Jayne turned to see a Japanese man behind her.

Methos handed Marianna off to Eleanor as he rose and kissed them both. "Guess that's my boarding call."

"Be careful," Eleanor said. "And remember… they aren't there… but they might be there by the time you get there… at least that's how I see it."

"I will." He kissed her again and stroked the side of her face. "Thanks for not insisting on going."

Eleanor nodded. "I'm needed here and maybe you and Phillip both need some time away."

Methos smiled and ruffled Marianna's long dark hair. "Bye Sprite! See ya soon!"

"Bye Daddy!"

He and the stranger left.

Jayne shook her head. "Who was that? And what's going on? Where is he going? What's happened? What did I miss?"

Eleanor laughed. "Oh not much. They're going after Derrick."

"Derrick? The one Adam and I searched for last summer? You think you've found him?"

"He found us… but he's missing again." Eleanor stopped and ran a hand through her own hair. "Good Lord we have a lot to catch up on. Do you remember Ali?"

"Ali? Yes… that girl from Paris who came to spend Christmas with you last year in Virginia. She was very odd. Only managed about two days before she had to leave."

"That's her. She was in trouble in Paris and Derrick went to see her. They're old friends from when he was a boy." Eleanor paused a moment, her face reflecting what Jayne had come to realize was a moment from her past. "Anyway… they were on that plane that went missing yesterday. Did you hear about it?"

"Out of Rome, yes. Terrible about that! I understand authorities still don't know what happened. So I missed meeting Derrick. You shall have to tell me all about him."

Marianna held up her crystal. "Want to see my pretty?"

Eleanor pushed Mari's arm down. "Later little one, now what else do you want for breakfast?"

"Melon."

Eleanor laughed. "You always ask for melon. You've eaten a plateful already. What about some cereal or some eggs?"

"But I like melon," Mari pouted.

Jayne lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth. It was good to be home. She'd have some catching up to do… new immortals here, returning immortals… yes… lots to do. She loved her job. Someone had once said people should be happy in their work. Jayne Wyndam-Wyatt was definitely happy in hers.

-----

"Where do you think he is?" Chou asked. Learning that the always-dangerous Kenny had become a daily companion of his two friends in his absence had made the diminutive immortal slightly jealous. The other two seemed more concerned about Kenny's absence than about his own rescue this morning. They'd eaten a good breakfast, remaining silent in front of the others about their concern where Kenny was.

"He's up to something," Denis said. "I know it. He's always hanging around and watching the big ones. He wishes he were one."

"He saved my life," J.D. defended his friend, feeling that he needed to… at least until Kenny's guilt about something was proven.

"He's playing you," Denis smirked as they came to the main path from town and looked about.

"Which way then?"

"If Phillip wanted to be alone for a bit… he'd go to that farmhouse on the other side of the island. Remember that one?" Denis suggested.

"What's Phillip got to do with Kenny?" J.C. asked.

Chou hit him in the arm. "Kenny hates Phillip. The swordmaster bested him in a fight."

"Well… d'uh," smirked J.D. rubbing his arm. "He's about three times Kenny's size." He looked thoughtful. "What would they have fought about?"

Chou and Denis met one another's gaze. J.D. did not know all about that aspect of immortal life. Chou slapped the boy on the back. "Well it's one place to start," he said as he raced ahead of the others on the path.

"Last one's a rotten egg!" added Denis as he took off after Chou.

J.D. grinned and began running after them. He had longer legs… and he knew he could catch them and outrun them. "To the victor go the spoils!" he yelled.

-----

Greg groaned and smacked his lips, grunting slightly at the sour taste in his mouth. His head pounded and not just from his reaction to the woman stretched out naked beside him in the grass. Slowly he sat up, holding his head while the landscape around him did aerials and his stomach went along for the ride. Once things steadied, he groaned to see where they were. "Oh shit… the temple ruins," he said.

Just as dawn was breaking, they'd grabbed their clothes, a few bottles of liquor from the cabinet and had gone running naked and laughing through the dewy grass. He hadn't paid too much attention as to where they were going. Greg had simply followed the temptress whose nude white body beckoned him onward. When he'd caught her… they'd started again. He'd had a lot of women in his life… but he'd never had one quite like this.

She was teasing. She was inventive. She could do things to a man that drove him wild with lust. Lust was exactly what he'd felt.

She stretched and eyed him devilishly. "So what?"

"People come up here all the time. Phillip comes twice a day. The kids play up here. You want them to catch us?"

She rose on her hands and knees and stalked toward him like a big cat. She butted him with her head as she climbed onto his lap and straddled him, her arms rose to hold his neck and she leaned in to nip at his earlobes. "So what? We're not doing anything anyone else wasn't last night." She leaned close to his ear. "I'll bet John was doing it to Grace and that she was screaming in ecstasy."

He pushed her off of his lap with a snarl and began to look about for his clothes. He only saw his sweatpants. That's right… that was all he'd been wearing when Sarah had found him. He grabbed them and began to pull them on.

Beside him she rose to her feet and strutted around, almost hoping that the children were watching. She'd love to ruin one of them. Perhaps the pre-immortal? She was certain there was something she could do to him and that it would infuriate Eleanor. Trouble is, it would infuriate Adam. She sighed and stepped over Greg as he pulled his sweats on. She was inches from his face. She put her hands on her hips and swayed before his hungry eyes as he focused on those hips. Greg licked his lips.

Shaking his head he pushed her to one side and scrambled to his feet.

"You liked me well enough last night," she pouted with a bitter laugh.

"I still do… but I have to get back. I'm supposed to watch Hope today."

Sarah threw up her hands and replied sarcastically, "Just what is it with the three of you about that baby? You each act like she's yours! All three of you are crazy. You should give her to some mortals to raise or kill her and be done with it!"

Greg turned and swiftly slapped her face. "You watch what you say," he yelled at her. "You know nothing!"

Sarah rubbed her jaw thoughtfully and changed her tactics. "You're right. I know nothing. Explain it to me then."

Greg opened his mouth to explain and then thought better of it. Sarah was still an unknown quantity on this island. What would she do if she knew the truth about Hope or the other children? He'd die before letting his daughter be put in danger by anything he said or did. Instead, he shrugged and turned away. "You'd have to ask Phillip or Adam about that," he finally said and started for the stairs leading down to the cove.

Sarah grabbed her filmy negligee and followed him, pulling at his arm. "What is it with you and everyone. Why go that way? Why not straight back down the path?"

Greg paused at her touch and met her gaze. "It's tradition."

"So… break tradition," she teased and struck an alluring and teasing pose.

For a moment Greg was tempted… but only for a moment. He pushed her aside. "Not now. I have to get back. Maybe we can get together tonight."

Sarah sniffed and folded her arms. "Oh? Am I to be your backdoor girl… your secret lover?"

Greg ran his hands through his hair. "No… it's just this is all happening too fast. Besides… I thought you and Cassandra…"

"Cassandra isn't here. Besides… I do what I want with whom I want and no one can stop me."

Greg laughed. "I can believe that."

"Then let's go down the other way and stroll into the house hand-in-hand."

Once again Greg considered it. It was tempting. It would certainly hurt Grace. And in that moment he knew that's not what he wanted. He didn't want to hurt Grace. He loved her. He wanted to hold her and make love to her for the next few centuries.

He shrugged. "We were both drunk last night. Let's just take this slow. We can talk later." With that he turned and descended the stone steps.

"Over my dead body!" Sarah yelled from the top.

He raised and waved one hand at her and then gestured with his middle finger but did not turn around and did not look back.

Sarah turned and screamed as she stomped her feet. Then she paced back and forth as she angrily considered her next move. She needed to get Greg to kill Eleanor and then Adam would turn to her after killing Greg. That was the plan. What had gone wrong?

Eyeing the empty bottles she shifted one with her bare foot. "I guess I did get a little drunk and forgot what I was doing." Sarah sighed. "Time to make nice." She'd follow Greg and make up with him. Maybe she'd even spend the day helping him take care of the brat. Laughing she turned and descended the steps.

It was low tide so she'd have no problem with the path being under water. She did wonder where Phillip was though. Reaching the sands she had a sudden overwhelming desire to walk to the lapping water and gaze out at the sea spray as it was flung into the air by the on coming tide. It sparkled in the sunlight like small lightning bugs in the darkness. There was something hypnotic about it. Slowly she waded out into the water until it was waist deep. She trailed her hands in it and spread her legs. She felt oddly alive as if someone was gently massaging her. Sarah Manning closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Her hands traveled over her body… pinching and rubbing sensitive areas. She had never before felt so alive… and so enflamed.

Inside her head she heard a strange voice cackling, "That's it you c--t… just relax. This won't hurt a bit… yet." It was followed by a laugh that made her blood run cold. She moved her hands faster and faster though. This was something new and dangerous and it was right up her alley.

"Yes," she moaned. "Take me… f--k me… f--ck me." Slowly she sank beneath the surface of the water.

-----


	34. Chapter Thirty Two

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**Niebos, the far side of the island:**

Kenny could see the swordmaster sitting cross-legged on the small beach in front of the farmhouse. Evidently he was meditating. The problem was how to sneak up on him without him feeling him… which he would. He was still out of range, he thought. He couldn't feel Phillip and doubted the Greek could feel him.

No… that wouldn't do. He needed something else. He needed someone else… someone Phillip might not feel. And then? Kenny still didn't have a plan. He wanted the swordmaster's head… but how to arrange it? The knife shifted in his jeans, the tip cutting into one leg. He needed to plan this carefully.

If Phillip were busy or distracted… maybe he could get his shot at him… but how? Kenny rubbed his chin on his upraised knees and ignored the knife and the pain. Pain let him know the even after eight hundred years he was still alive… still here… and still in the game. He continued to glare down on Phillip's immobile figure.

Feeling immortals behind him, Kenny softened the glare on his face even as J.D. landed beside him. "Hey Ken… what's up?"

Just behind him were Denis and Chou. _Oh great_, he thought, _the three stooges_. He shrugged and pointed at Phillip on the shore below.

The other boys looked down the hill at the beach below. Chou rolled onto his back. "He looks fine to me."

"No," Denis said with a shake of his head. "He's so still… like he's meditating. Phillip never meditates."

J.D. flopped onto his back. "You're right. He's always in motion. Even when he's on the temple mount, or down in the cove. He's always moving around and he's never quiet for long. He's got that big booming voice that just doesn't quit."

Kenny shrugged. He pointed at Phillip, made a fist and tried to mime him hitting someone.

"What did you see last night?" all three boys trooped together and closed in on him.

"You didn't indicate anything last night about what you saw," J.D. said. He clearly didn't like the idea that his dad and his dad's friend were fighting.

Kenny enjoyed the moment and then he shrugged. The other boys nodded. They'd decided only one of them should slink out onto the landing and see what was happening. When Kenny had returned, he'd mimed that something had apparently fallen in Phillip's study. After that they'd all gone back to bed and slept. At least they had. Kenny hadn't… but he didn't tell them that. Then an idea hit him. Maybe there was a way to get to Phillip now that J.D. and the others were here. He nudged J.D. and pointed at Phillip. Next he nodded knowingly at Denis and Chou who nodded back.

"That makes sense."

"Safer that way."

All three looked at J.D. and Kenny managed to restrain his laughter. Maybe one of the others would suggest it. That way he'd be in the clear if something went wrong.

"Why don't you go down and check on him," Denis suggested. "I mean he's your uncle and all."

"Not really," J.D. protested but he turned and looked thoughtfully down on Phillip. "But I am worried about him."

"He'd likely take an interruption from you better than from one of us," Chou added.

Kenny nodded. In his mind he saw Phillip talking with J.D., his back turned to them as they went to join them. He could have his knife ready. It was extra sharp and he was certain he could cut the Greek's head off with it.

J.D. rose to a crouch and then nodded. "Yep… see ya when I see ya mates."

As he started down the hill he heard the two boys' familiar reply, "Not if we see you first," and laughter. He suddenly had a very odd feeling about this… but it was too late to back out now. He slid down the rocky sand and approached Phillip's back. The man never turned. He stretched out one hand to touch Phillip's shoulder. "Uncle Phillip?" he started to say. The words were lost as Phillip, his eyes dilated and reddened thrust out a hand and grabbed him by the neck and then squeezed. Darkness overwhelmed J.D. almost immediately.

-----

Kenny leapt to his feet in horror as he realized what Phillip was doing. "Stop it!" he yelled and plunged down the slope. All thoughts of killing Phillip were gone. Denis and Chou were likewise racing toward the pair.

Phillip looked up at the boys in confusion and then at the boy in his hands. He dropped him and then knelt by his side, feeling for a pulse. "J.D.? Lad I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you. I thought it was…" He looked up. "Kenny… run, get Adam and Eleanor. Have them meet me at the hospital."

Tears stung Denis' eyes. "Is he dead?"

Chou peeked out from behind Denis. "You didn't?"

"He's alive, but I don't know how badly he's hurt," Phillip said. He cradled J.D. gently in his arms and took off in a loping gait for the hospital.

Kenny watched him go; he motioned to the others to follow him as he took off at a furious pace. That he'd just spoken was lost on him as it was on the others. This had taken a decidedly deadly turn. Adam would likely kill the swordmaster himself if J.D. died. Inwardly the boyman cheered. Even if he didn't get him… the swordmaster would die before the day was out. He was certain of it. Then, maybe he'd set his sites on one of the others.

-----

Grace closed the chart and smiled warmly at the elderly woman. Her cancer was back and she had returned to the hospital this morning. "We'll run some tests and do everything we can," she assured the woman. Grace had been working so hard on the DNA problem of the immortals that she'd done little research into cancer in recent months. She'd forgotten that taking care of the mortals who came here was first and foremost her goal in life.

"You are a good girl," the old woman assured her and patted Grace's hand. "You are a good doctor who cares about us."

"I'll see if we can't devise a menu of food you can keep down," Grace said, "made up of things you like. Shall I send the dietician in later?"

"That would be nice. But if I have to start the chemo again… I won't like much of anything."

Grace nodded thoughtfully. "Shall I tell your family, or do you want to, that you have to remain."

The old woman sighed and glanced at her bag near the bedside. "I think they already know."

"Nevertheless… they should know we aren't giving up."

"You know doctor… no one lives forever. Perhaps it is my time. If it is… maybe I go home and die in my own bed."

Grace started at her words. "No… no one lives forever." Tears sprang to her eyes and she dabbed at them. "But maybe… just maybe… it's not your time. I want to run a few more tests and make certain."

The old woman shrugged. "If you want."

Grace rose and clasped the computer chart to her chest. "I won't lie to you Elisabeta… things look grim and there is your age to consider. If there's nothing we can do… I'll tell you so that you have the choice of dying at home with your family… all those children and grandchildren around you. I do envy you that."

"I wait then." Elisabeta nodded, resigned to staying. Grace hoped she could help her. She hoped that the answer lay in her research. She just needed more time. Or maybe she needed more researchers.

"I'll just go and see about getting you a room and something to eat," Grace said pointing at the door. She smiled again and then left the examination room. She leaned against the wall and wanted to cry, but she had more to see… and she had orders to write and family to counsel. Oh it was going to be a long day.

Grace pushed off of the wall. This was maudlin. She had work to do. Eleanor would be in later so the Grace could get some research done. But Katherine was off for the night and Greg was… where.

She laid a hand across her abdomen as she thought of Greg and what had almost happened. She could still feel his touch. Even sleeping next to John hadn't changed that. She loved John. She truly did. But Greg? Greg was something she missed. Someone younger and a bit daring. Someone she could talk to about her work. Most of her mortal lovers had been her research assistants. Was that why she wanted some now? To find a mortal lover? And what about John? He'd done nothing wrong. He was so patient and gentle with her. He loved and adored Hope. He loved her too… she was certain of it. Was all of this just cold feet at the thought of cleaving to him and no other?

Maybe that was why Eleanor and Adam had made them promise to wait. After seeing the battling de Valicourts, she quite agreed. Being in one another's head was so much more consuming than just living together and loving one another. And if Eleanor and Adam were right… there was no such thing as a divorce once they'd taken the step.

The de Valicourts would continue to fight and make up… likely as they always had. And although Adam and Eleanor had seemed distant with one another in recent weeks… and there had been that fight last night… they seemed to have settled things by this morning. She'd been absolutely enchanted by them at breakfast… the way they touched one another and kissed one another. Perhaps the fight had been what they needed. But there was a worry about immortal fights. They could be deadly far too easily.

She stepped slowly and thoughtfully down the corridor. She had to settle things with Greg and she had to be honest with John about her reservations if they were ever to have a chance. Why was it then that it was Greg's kiss that enflamed her and made her feel like a woman again and not just a mother?

-----

Curled up in a chaise lounge on the rear _portico_, Denara had an open book in her lap, but she wasn't interested in it. She was worried about Phillip. Ever since Ursa's death, she'd felt especially close to Phillip. Oh the doctor had brought her to the school… but it was Phillip who had protected her after Ursa had died. It was Phillip who carried her in one arm and always had a smile for her. He spoke to her in ancient Greek and never treated her like a child.

Denara had no idea how old she was. She simply was. The doctor had found her in the ruins of a bombed Greek village during World War II and brought her to the convent of _Ste. Genevieve_ for safety, as he'd once brought Valeraine. That was another reason to worry about Phillip. Phillip had buried the possessed Valeraine somewhere on the island over a dozen years ago and Valeraine had always been her closest friend. Denara had no clear memory of before the doctor's finding her. There were some vague dreams sometimes about events… but as with most dreams, they made little sense… at least to her.

She often spoke of them to Phillip who listened to her and nodded his head. He was Greek like she was and over two thousand years old. Surely he'd recognize something. But he never had.

"Play with me," Marianna begged, standing beside the chaise and looking pleadingly at Denara.

"I don't feel like playing right now. You play. Maybe I'll join you soon."

"I miss him too," Marianna said soberly.

Denara stared at her young charged who was growing up all too soon it seemed sometimes. How did she know what Denara was thinking of?

"I can see him… want to see?" Marianna held out the strange crystal.

"I never see anything in it," Denara reminded her.

"That's cause you look with your eyes and not your heart the lady says."

Denara stared at Marianna. "Can you really and truly see Phillip?"

Marianna nodded. "He's watching the waves and the gulls and the ships on the ocean out at sea."

Denara bit her lip. That made logical sense. After all… they were on an island. Maybe she was just making that up, though.

"You can't see anything in that old hunk of quartz," she told the younger girl.

"Can too!" Marianna plopped onto the flagstones and held the ball between her hands. Suddenly she cried out. "No Opa! Don't hurt him! That's J.D." Marianna rose to race into the house, screaming for her mother and still shouting at "Opa." The ball had fallen from her hands and rolled on the flagstones until it was within Denara's reach. She picked it up and stared at it… trying to see something… anything. But the stone remained… just a stone.

-----

Eleanor threw herself across Jayne's bed while the young Watcher unpacked, chatting merrily about her trip and how much she was glad to be back. Eleanor had found a kindred spirit in Jayne, the first female Watcher in residence they'd ever had. The two of them had sometimes gone shopping together… something neither really enjoyed except when they were buying for the children.

"And Dad says hello. You know how he is. He still feels like he's Methos' Watcher."

Eleanor nodded. She'd never met Timothy Wyatt in person, but she'd heard about him and had been present the night that Tim's throat was slashed by immortal Peter Taylor who was looking for "Ben Adams". Tim had had a hard time of it and had a synthetic voice box. He'd had to leave fieldwork behind him but he had become, according to Joe Dawson, "one helluva researcher". Jayne had an irrepressible spirit, much as her father had.

"Oh and I bought the nicest presents for the children. I hope to give them to them both at dinner tonight if that's acceptable."

"Of course it is," Eleanor replied with a grin. The **_Lady Ambergris II_** was sailing in sunlit waters and Methos was enjoying being on the bow of the ship. She'd wanted to go… but he'd reminded her one of them needed to remain here… and then he'd reminded her that she didn't do well on ships… especially small ones. That was the truth. Ever since drowning on the **_HMS Titanic_** in 1912, she'd never felt comfortable on ships.

"You'll be with me in spirit," Methos had told her. "Besides… I don't completely trust that crew of Derrick's and you are far too much a temptation." He'd kissed her then… even as he was mentally kissing her now. She felt like he was nuzzling her neck. She sighed and stretched out on Jayne's bed.

"I take it things between you two are going well," laughed Jayne as she paused in her unpacking and putting away the heavier clothing she had no need of here.

Eleanor curled onto her side with both hands beneath her face. "So it seems. I feel better than I've felt in months… truly."

"What about when this Derrick came?"

"Later Jayne. I want to hear all about your trip. I've been here since last summer and I miss seeing the world sometimes."

Jayne snorted and laughed. "Well it's warmer in England than I've ever known it to be at Christmas. Though it was very, very foggy every night. I got to go to the Watcher's Academy New Year's Ball and …"

Marianna's scream brought their conversation to a standstill. Instantly concerned, Eleanor jumped from the bed and raced toward her daughter. Jayne was not far behind.

-----

"Momma!" screamed Mariana. She was jumping up and down in the foyer of the villa and sobbing. "Opa!"

Eleanor flew down the stairs and gathered her into her arms. "What is it?" she said attempting to calm her daughter.

"Opa! J.D.!" sobbed Marianna uncontrollably. Nothing more could be understood.

Eleanor glanced around frantically. She didn't want to just hand Marianna off and then race off without knowing where to go. But if J.D. or Phillip were in danger… she needed to be there.

Within her mind she could sense Methos guilt and anger at having left. He was ready to have Wingate turn the ship around.

_No! Let me handle this_! she sent to him. "Marianna… darling… where are they?"

"Don't know," sobbed the child. "Opa!" she screamed again.

At that moment, Eleanor felt someone arriving and looked up to see Chou, Kenny and Denis tumble hurriedly through the doorway… Chou and Denis talking at once.

"Eleanor! Phillip choked J.D.!" Denis cried out.

"He's taking him to the hospital!" Chou tried to tell her.

Hearing only J.D. and hospital, Eleanor nodded and lifted Marianna in her arms. She glanced about franticly trying to think what to do.

"Let me watch her," Jayne said holding out her arms. "You go."

Eleanor handed her daughter off with a kiss and pushed past the boys. "Stay here!" she ordered them as she ran through the open door and across the front _portico_ to reach the hospital path. Only when she reached the hospital and saw a morose Phillip sitting in a chair in the corridor of the emergency section did she slow down and the boys' words pierce her worried mind. "Phillip choked J.D."

Phillip looked up guiltily as she approached. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing… who he was."

Eleanor stopped in front of him. She could sense Methos' anger, red and black and overwhelming. Hell, _she_ was furious. But Phillip was their oldest friend. His guilt was palpable. She knew on a basic level that he loved the children and would protect them with his life. This was an aberration. She clenched her fists and then unclenched one of them to slap him firmly across the face.

"I deserved that," he said with a nod. "And far more if that boy is dead." The anger that had possessed him last night seemed gone for the moment.

"We'll talk later about that once I see him. Where is he?"

Phillip motioned with his head. "Grace has him in there. He… I… Marianna. I heard her calling to me and I stopped."

Eleanor pushed him roughly to one side as she headed to the trauma room and pushed open the door.

-----


	35. Chapter Thirty Three

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II _in the Aegean Sea:**

As the **_Lady Ambergris II_** set sail in the sunlit Aegean on its way south, Methos breathed in the salt tang of the ocean air. He spread his feet a bit on the deck to get his sea legs. _At least this boat has facilities_, he snickered to himself. There was nothing worse than a long trip in close quarters with no privacy and no facilities.

Thinking of that voyage reminded him of the broken artifacts on the floor of Phillip's study. At least they had recorded the positions of them with the digital reader… and had the shots of those teasing landscapes they'd seen in some of them… but too many were broken now to ever put them all together. Did they even have enough to work on any further? He sighed and guessed not.

Behind him he could hear Tyler Burke near the rail mumbling about, "Faster! Go faster!" and knew that Masahiro was behind the wheel. Wingate, openly wearing his sword, had gone below to double-check the engine. They might need it later. Below decks he could sense the young couple, David and Michelle in the galley. He sighed. At least the trio of bikers was not along. They were still exploring the small island… but he wondered what was taking them so long. It wasn't that big of an island. But… not his problem.

He shuddered slightly at the thought of Eleanor having come on this trip instead of him. Methos smiled. She'd shown him last night that she was fully capable of protecting herself. She seemed to have cast off the waif of recent days. It had been an interesting night to say the least. He cast his thoughts back to her on Niebos… and visualized kissing her neck.

He could feel her amusement and delight in his thought. It seemed to have been such a long time since they'd casually cast thoughts at one another. Likely not since the opening months of his search for Derrick last summer. He wished she were with him… but one of them had to stay with the children and since he didn't quite trust Wingate and the others, he didn't like the idea of Eleanor's going and his remaining on the island. Especially not with the way things were with Phillip. Besides… he spoke better Arabic than she did.

"You have to give him time. It's what I tried to explain to you. Something is happening here. Phillip is not himself and hasn't been since he killed Kingsley. Everyone is on edge for different reasons. We really need to get the children away from here," she'd told him during a quiet moment this morning as they'd laid entangled in one another's arms and legs.

In retrospect, Methos suspected she was right. The first thing he was going to do upon returning was move his family to another of his safe-houses. He didn't want to take them back to Virginia… Sarah knew about that one. It was time, perhaps, for them all to vanish… even from the eyes of the Watchers.

Stark fear hit him and nearly doubled him over. _What?_ he sent… fuming that he couldn't be there. He howled slightly and paced back and forth trying to learn what was happening. Marianna was screaming! Had someone hurt his daughter? He'd kill them. Methos' eyes blazed and his hand gripped the hilt of broadsword. He should make them turn back!

_No!_ Eleanor sent. She'd handle this. He turned to the railing and pounded a fist into it. He felt helpless here. At least she wasn't keeping him out as she had been. Learning that Phillip had done something to J.D. made him burn with anger. He heard little else after that. He was fuming and ready to kill to get back to Niebos and face Phillip once and for all!

-----

Caspar wiped his hands on a rag. The engine was in as good a shape as he could make it. He'd completed all the maintenance in record time. He paused to rub away a smudge of oil on the surface. It would serve them well in the following days if the wind died.

While Caspar still had doubts about this journey, and doubts about how Burke knew what he knew, he'd been outvoted and they even had a passenger. He smirked slightly as he thought about Adam Pierson. Even as they were pulling out of the harbor, the immortal was in the pilothouse looking over Derrick's charts and making plans for them as if he were in charge of this expedition.

"It looks like we're headed for this area here," Pierson had said in that smug English accent of his. He'd grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. "As I recall, to lay anchor there we need the following." He'd written several things down.

Caspar couldn't say much. He was in charge; he was temporary captain… Derrick had said so before he left. Who was this guy anyway? Besides… he did seem to know the paperwork needed just as Derrick always had.

"You been a sailor?" he'd finally asked lamely. Behind him Masahiro had chuckled slightly. Masahiro had been in the Japanese Navy, but his experience with smaller ships like the **_Lady Ambergris II_** was non-existent… at least it had been before he'd joined them. He knew enough to chart a course and handle the wheel. But he'd reminded Caspar that he had no experience in this part of the world.

Besides… none of them spoke Arabic.

Pierson did. And he'd let them have it with that. "Oh… and who is going to converse with the authorities we might have to deal with when we arrive and drop anchor? You think even if they speak English or Japanese that they will really tell you what's going on?"

It was about then that Caspar had decided to finish overhauling the engine and had excused himself.

Hearing a shriek from above, he tossed the rag. "Now what?" he grumbled, rushing through the hatches until he reached the gangway to the deck. He shot a glance at David and Michelle in the galley hatch and looking upward. "Stay here. Likely Burke's just wanting us to go faster," Caspar had said and then climbed the gangway.

It wasn't Burke… it was Pierson who was pacing and grumbling and holding his head. "We have to go back!" he heard Pierson say.

He strode up to him, posturing a bit with his heavily muscled arms folded over his chest. Pierson was both shorter and slighter than Caspar. "What's the problem?"

Behind him Burke was starting to yell. "No go back! Go faster!"

Pierson stopped his circling and shuddered as he glanced at Caspar. "Sorry… something's happened on Niebos."

"Now how the hell do you know that? Phonecard?"

Pierson clutched at his chest. "No… I…" He stared for a long moment at Caspar. "Nothing. Anxiety attack. Pay it no mind." He turned away.

"Anxiety my ass!" Caspar shouted and grabbed his arm to turn him back. The face of fury that met his made him drop Pierson's arm and step back. For a moment he thought he'd been looking at the face of his own death. Then Pierson seemed to relax. "For your own safety… never touch me again."

"Who the hell are you?" Caspar wanted to know, but Pierson had turned away and was leaning on the railing, staring at the sea, his hands clasped before him.

Masahiro cleared his throat behind Caspar, who turned to look at him. Masahiro motioned Caspar into the pilothouse. Caspar followed him in and shut the door.

"Many years ago… before I was immortal… when I was just a young _samurai_ in the service of my emperor… I met Pierson. He used the name Benjamin, Adam Benjamin, at the time. He spoke Japanese like a native and for a _gaijin_ was most polite and followed our customs as if he'd been born to them. He was an advisor to my emperor. Not one of those who turned my emperor into a puppet of the west… but one who urged him to explore the customs of the west but to hold fast to the faith of his fathers.

"I saw him in a duel with a mortal _ronin_ once. The _ronin_, though greatly skilled had no chance against Benjamin. He lost his head in less time than it takes to say he lost it."

"What did this _ronin_ do to piss Pierson off?" Caspar muttered.

"He grabbed his arm and insulted his woman with a rude gesture. He was _ronin_. _Ronin _have no honor."

Caspar ran a hand over his closely cropped hair and scalp. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I also believe that Pierson was Derrick's first teacher. His style is similar in many ways."

"I thought you taught Derrick to use a sword when he came to you for lessons."

"I did. But Derrick-_sama_ already knew much and spoke of his sister's husband teaching him."

Caspar nodded. "Well that's just great. I hope this guy doesn't go crazy and start killing us all."

"_Hai!_ We must be ever vigilant. I suspect Pierson has a very dark and dishonorable past."

The two immortals nodded in agreement and turned to watch the newcomer stalking to and fro at the railing.

-----

Michelle Webster tilted her head slightly as she watched Caspar vanish up the gangway. She pulled back into the galley and glanced at David Keogh, leaning against the hatch and shaking his head. "Now what do you suppose that was about?" she asked him.

"Not a clue. Likely Crazy Burke again." He turned toward her. "Now where were we?"

Michelle grinned devilishly and leaned close to him. Her small perky breasts beneath her tank top rubbed against David's T-shirted chest. Her hips closed in on his, until she could feel him swell against her. Laughing, she teasingly kissed his nose.

"Somehow I don't think that's where we were," David laughed as he pulled her more tightly, kissed her hungrily, and then pulled back. He turned and sat, straddling a chair.

"Spoilsport!" Michelle stuck her tongue out at him.

"You're insatiable sometimes."

"Hey… I'm eighteen forever. That, by definition is an eighteen year old," she laughed as she shimmied in front of him.

David rolled his eyes. This trip around the world had been good for them both. While their relationship had blossomed while they'd run a soup kitchen in Seacouver, it had positively thrived on this trip and under Derrick's tutelage and example. Both immortals had been hurt many times before in love and to finally find it with each other had been a true gift… a gift that kept on giving some days. Both of them reveled in their relationship.

Michelle returned to chopping vegetables for dinner. She'd spoken to some of the cooks in the cafes and the women of the households on the island about local cuisine and had been purchasing spices and fresh produce to try some of the recipes she'd written down. She could already see ways to adapt them. She and David had had a good time on the island… as they'd done on most of the stops.

David had sketched and taken notes on local furniture and spoken with craftsmen as he had each port they'd made. His designs for new furniture were taking on an international flair with the best aspects of the various drawings melded together into something new, different, practical, and elegant. He'd purchased some specialized woodworking tools at all of their stops and had been practicing with them. He'd been looking forward to a long port of call when he could actually set up shop and start work. But they'd both felt that helping Caspar and Burke find and locate Derrick was of prime importance.

She found the tall Adam Pierson a bit daunting for all his easy charm. He seemed smug and clearly he had his own agenda on this trip. He also seemed to know things about them that surprised her. It was if he'd heard about her. She vaguely recalled seeing him after their rescue in Geneva twelve years ago. He'd been a victim as well… but he hadn't gone through some of the counseling sessions that the survivors had gone through. She wondered if he'd thought he was above that. To this day, Michelle had nightmares about being raped while unable to move, resist, or speak. She didn't know if she had been… but from some of the stories that the others told, she might have been. She also had something of the quickening of young Derek Worth within her. She hadn't killed him… but he'd been killed near her and she'd inherited his quickening. She wondered if that was when she'd begun to grow up some.

As she chopped, she began to sing. That was something else she'd learned from Derek Worth… singing… or at least the love of it. She supposed she'd always been able to… she'd just never been interested in it. She gravitated toward blues and power ballads that showed of her abilities to their best. Who needed a radio when one could sing? But sometimes, like now, some piece of gospel music would pour from her lips… some song she really didn't know.

"_Didn't it rain children, talk about rain oh my Lord  
Didn't it, Didn't it, Didn't it, oh my Lord Didn't it rain  
Rain, rain, oh my Lord  
Didn't it, Didn't it, Didn't it, oh my Lord Didn't it rain…"_

David laughed. He loved to hear her sing and watching her dance around the galley, sing and cook was one of the joys of this voyage. However, he had things to do. He rose, kissed her cheek and sauntered toward the gangway, climbing toward the deck. Arriving there, David noted Pierson's clear unease as he paced and held his head. Burke was doing something similar. "What's wrong guys?" he called out. But neither reacted to him. David shrugged. He supposed some immortals just didn't do well in groups. Him? He loved it. With a whistle, he sauntered to the stern; he had some shipboard carpentry chores awaiting him there that he'd not had time for in port.

With a grin, he eagerly set to work. From below, he could still hear Michelle belting out the song.

"_Didn't it rain children, talk about rain oh my Lord  
Didn't it, Didn't it, Didn't it, oh my Lord Didn't it rain  
Rain, rain, oh my Lord  
Didn't it, Didn't it, Didn't it, oh my Lord Didn't it rain…"_

-----

_Didn't It Rain_ Written by Marie Knight and Sister Rosetta Tharpe; lyrics used without permission. . Also recorded with slightly different lyrics on Jim Byrnes' **_House of Refuge_**.


	36. Chapter Thirty Four

**Chapter Thirty-Four**  
**Niebos:**

J.D. blinked and slowly opened his eyes. "Hey there little man," said Grace. "How are you doing? You had us really worried this time. Don't try to talk. Just nod your head. Throat hurt?'

J.D. nodded. His throat felt like a bad bruise if he pushed on it. He raised one hand to it and rubbed it.

"I'll get you some ice chips. Now I'm serious… no talking." She turned and he could hear her getting ice and water from a pitcher. He also heard a door open. His mother entered.

"How is he?"

"He's going to be fine. Pretty bad contusions and there will be some swelling for a week or so. Amazingly… nothing was broken." She indicated an x-ray illuminated by a panel light. J.D.'s mom took a look.

"Crush windpipe and swelling along the esophageal tract."

He wished he knew what that meant. He hurt and that was all he knew. He wasn't even certain what had happened. He'd been with the other boys. He'd gone to talk to Philip and… J.D. shook his head.

"No ice?" Grace asked.

He shook his head again.

"Here… I'll do it. I know you have bigger problems than this guy," his mother said, holding out her hands to take the cup of ice from Grace.

"He's always a gentleman," Grace laughed as she handed the cup of ice over to Eleanor. "Oh… I see no reason to keep him here. Give him some ibuprofen for the pain. He can go back to the house when you think he's ready." She turned to J.D. "But no talking. I mean it." She smiled. J.D. had always liked the way Grace smiled. It was warm and inviting.

She left and his mother leaned on the gurney to scoop up a spoonful of ice chips. "Open wide."

J.D. did so. The ice melted in his mouth and cooled his throat when he went to swallow. It still hurt to swallow though. He raised a hand and shook his head. His other hand went to his throat.

"Hurts huh?" his mother said. She smiled sadly as she brushed his hair from his eyes. At least Grace had said he could leave.

There was a knock on the door and Phillip opened it. He stood there looking very sad. His mother turned her head toward Phillip and motioned him in. "He's going to be fine."

When Phillip came to stand beside J.D. he had never looked sadder. His eyes were red-rimmed. Had he been crying? "I'm so sorry lad. You startled me and… I'm just so sorry." He lowered his head and made to turn and leave. J.D. grabbed his hand. Phillip turned back. "Yes?" He glanced at J.D.'s mother. She nodded.

He leaned down to J.D. "It'll be fine. I was just startled lad. I didn't mean to hurt you."

J.D. tried to recall the event. Phillip had hurt him? He didn't remember that. He remembered coming up to him and calling his name. Phillip was his friend. He'd never hurt him. J.D. raised his arms to Phillip's neck and hugged him.

Phillip sobbed a moment. "Guess that means I'm forgiven… at least by you."

Phillip straightened, and J.D. released him. He then rolled toward his mother who still looked worried and smiled as he sat up and clasped her around the neck. He tried to put his long legs around her so that she could carry him as she used to. He wanted to go home. And he wanted his mother to hold him.

She nearly fell. He'd forgotten he was nearly as tall as she was. She was such a tiny thing. "Hey wait a minute. J.D.… this isn't going to work. I can't carry you this way. She set him back on the gurney. "I think you have to walk."

J.D. looked back at Phillip. He raised his hands to the man he called Uncle. Phillip sniffed. He looked at J.D's mother. "May I?"

"Fine… just be careful."

"The rage is gone. The hate is gone. It's just me. It's as if…" Phillip stopped and shook his head as he lifted J.D. in his arms. The boy hooked his legs about Phillip's waits and his arms about his neck. He rested the side of his head on Phillip's chest and felt the reverberations when Phillip talked. "We need to talk," Phillip said to his mother.

"Yes we do," she replied.

Together the three of them left the trauma room and hospital and crossed on the path leading to the villa. His friends were on the _portico_ to meet him.

"He's fine but he can't talk. Phillip I don't think he should bunk with the boys."

"He can have my room. I'm returning to the other side of the island. Where's Adam?"

"He's not here. I'll explain later. But… we can't put J.D. in your room?"

"Why not? It's big… it's private…"

"We… uh… used it last night and we… uh… Well there was some damage," she explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

J.D. smiled.

"Damage?"

"We got a little carried away."

"Carried away?" he sputtered. "In _my_ room?"

"Well you weren't there."

"Again… In _my_ room?"

"Phillip, please let's just get J.D. upstairs. We can put him in my room."

Phillip sputtered. Behind them, J.D. could see the other boys laughing and holding their sides. He grinned. He didn't quite understand it… but he had an idea. After all… he was thirteen.

-----

Eleanor straightened the covers on the bed and then sat beside J.D. "I know you may not like sharing a room with me, but I don't want you with the other boys until your throat heals. You cannot talk."

J.D. wrinkled his nose and folded his arms across his chest to show his dislike of what she said. He'd watched the voiceless Kenny for months and had become pretty good at mimicking him.

Phillip snapped his fingers. "I think Madame Kostas has some ice cream. Would you like some ice cream?"

J.D. grinned and gave him a thumb's up.

"I'll go order it up then," laughed Phillip. It was good to hear him laugh; even his mother smiled so she must think so too.

After Phillip left she leaned over and brushed his hair out of his eyes again. "What am I to do with you?"

He shrugged.

"I'm just thankful you're all right," she sighed.

There was a knock at the door. Jayne peeked in. "I have someone who really wants to see you."

Marianna came in shyly. "You okay J.D."

He smirked at her and nodded.

She climbed into their mother's lap. "I was afraid."

J.D. smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"I had a gift for you that I was going to give you later," Jayne said. "But if your mother says okay, I think now would be a good time. It will give you something to do while you're recuperating. She held out a small box. He opened it. His eyes widened. It was the new **_Time Warrior X_** cartridge for his game player. He'd been wanting that and had been disappointed that he hadn't gotten it for either his birthday or Christmas.

He shook one hand with excitement and pointed in the general direction of his room

"Oh you mean this?" Jayne laughed and pulled the personal game player from behind her back. "Have fun!"

"Rest and recuperation also means he shall have time for studies too," his mother said with a wink. "But not today.

J.D. grinned. He 'd think of another excuse not to do lessons tomorrow. Today he was going to enjoy this! He slipped the cartridge on, fitted the earpiece/projector over one ear, scooted down in the bed and turned it on. All around him the holo-vid began to play.

His mother rose with a laugh. "Well that should keep him entertained for a bit.

"A bit? I tried that one and got nowhere!" Jayne laughed as they left the room with Marianna between them.

-----

Eleanor picked up Marianna. "I need to have a talk with Opa. Will you go with Miss Jayne? Or do you want me to find Denara?"

"Miss Jayne." She grinned at the young Watcher. "You got a present for me?"

Jayne took her in her arms. "I do indeed. Shall we go to my room and you can help me unpack and we can open it together." She winked at Eleanor, who nodded and descended the steps. Phillip was in his study looking at the broken artifacts.

"Well we certainly made a mess in here."

"That's hardly important now. Methos is furious enough to kill you right now."

"I don't blame him. I truly don't know what happened lat night."

"Not for that… for J.D. What did happen?"

"It's as I said. I was still trying to clear my mind of what had happened. I got to the farmhouse… I couldn't sleep so I went down to the shore and meditated. The next thing I know is I sense an immortal coming up on me and I lashed out. But it wasn't an immortal… it was J.D." Phillip began to pace.

"I tell you if I hadn't heard Marianna scream I don't think I would have released him in time." He looked up. "That's what brought me out of it."

"You heard Marianna?" Eleanor shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. She was here at the house."

Phillip shrugged, "Perhaps I only thought it was her. But someone screamed." He lifted a hand to his brow and rubbed it a moment before continuing. "All of us seem to be on edge these days."

Eleanor nodded. "It's what I've been saying for some time. I think Nestor has found a way to influence those of us who've spent time in that cove. It may be time to move Valeraine's body or something."

"By something… you mean kill her. We can't and you know it. Through us Nestor would be too powerful for anyone to stop."

"I know," Eleanor said with a shake of her head and a stomp of one foot. Her eyes were squeezed shut. "It's just we have to do something. You've been at the cove more than any of us. It's been happening ever since the _tsunami_. He received a moment of power while the water was withdrawn and with it, he's trying to destroy us by turning us against one another."

"I think you're right."

"As soon as Methos gets back, I'm taking the children out of here."

Phillip nodded. "I quite agree." He looked around. "Not that I'm not happy he's not here to take my head, but where is he?"

"He decided to go on the yacht to where that Burke fellow seems to want them to go. They needed someone who spoke Arabic. Mine isn't so good."

Phillip chuckled. "Yours is better than you know." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "I'm still going back to the other side of the island. I want to be certain I'm not a threat or a danger to anyone."

Eleanor shook her head and stepped back. "I'm not certain I could take your head."

Phillip smiled gently. "I think you could. I really do. I taught you everything I know. I held nothing back. If I'm to die… let it be by your hand."

He bowed to her and left. Eleanor flung herself onto the sofa and wept. In her mind Methos was there… consoling her. He wanted to come home now.

_No! We're fine! Go find Derrick!_ she told him and imagined herself kissing him.

-----

Returning to the house, Sarah Manning had gone immediately to her room for a hot shower. Then she'd dressed snickering at the few items of clothing the other women had given her. Nothing really fit right… but it had to do. Staring into the mirror she smirked with satisfaction and then applied some bright red lipstick. She smacked her lips and tossed the applicator onto the boudoir table with a laugh. She fluffed her hair before opening the top button of the pale blue blouse she'd put on. "Time to play," she chuckled.

In the hallway she saw three of the boys watching Madame Kostas labor up the stairs… a wooden tray in her hand. On the tray was a silvery dome… frosted with cold.

"What's that?" Chou asked the old woman.

"Something for the young master," Madame Kostas replied. She'd reached the second story and had turned to head down toward Eleanor and Adam's room.

Sarah decided to follow and see what was happening. She caught up with them as they reached the closed door. Sarah reached out and opened it. "Here, let me help you with that."

"Oh no, I have it, but thank you," the old woman said and entered the room. On the bed was J.D. Sarah's smirk widened. _Ooh… something happened to him_, she thought giddily. The small immortals entered the room, passing her by.

As Kenny, the last of them entered he looked up at her. _My, such a tasty-looking morsel he is_. Sarah mimicked kissing him. He blushed and stepped back. But he stared at her as if he knew something. Sarah wriggled her tongue. Kenny swiftly turned and joined the others.

Sarah waved at them all and left. She was after bigger fish today. Sauntering down the stairs she sensed an immortal in Phillip's study. Usually Adam was in there lying on the floor while he examined those stupid pieces of pottery. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to approach him. She slid the doors open.

On the sofa was Eleanor weeping. The bitch sat up and wiped her eyes. "Do you need something?"

"I was looking for Adam. I was curious about what happened to J.D."

Eleanor rubbed her forehead. "Adam isn't here right now. J.D. had an accident… he's fine."

Sarah closed the doors behind her. "You look like you need a friend or someone to talk to." Maybe the two had had another fight this morning while she'd been gone.

Eleanor pursed her brows suspiciously. "Oh it's nothing. I just needed a few moments to let off some emotion after J.D.'s fall. He's fine… really."

She rose and headed for the door.

"Oh," Sarah said with a smirk. "What happened in here? Did you break your toys?"

Eleanor paused a moment, her hands flexing and unflexing. Then she pushed past Sarah, opened the doors and climbed the stairs.

Behind her, Sarah chuckled. She kicked at some of the fragments and then turned and left the house. Adam wasn't here… but playing with Eleanor and pushing her buttons was almost as much fun. Maybe she'd take a walk around the island. Maybe she'd run into him. Once down on the path, she bent over and laughed out loud. _Oh it was good to be alive!_

-----

Upstairs, Kenny pondered what had happened between him and Sarah Manning. There was something different and odd about her. Kenny wasn't certain what he'd seen. It might only have been an illusion in the shadows and shafts of light. But he'd thought for one moment… that Sarah Manning's eyes had glowed red.

-----


	37. Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty-Five 

_**Somewhere in the desert:**_

To Derrick, the aftermath of the sandstorm appeared to have left the swells of sand dunes looking like a great white ocean. The dunes seemed to rise and fall like undulating waves. Wind drove sand before it in small flurries like sea spray. It seemed fluffed up, aerated, different and far more treacherous to walk on than before. The landscape had altered. A man… or an immortal… could be lost in this white and drifting land. Unlike the deserts of the American southwest which also featured rock mesas, cacti, and gorges with rivers, this one was only sand as far as the eye could see. There were no features to use as landmarks… there was only the setting sun to his back, and the hope of moon and stars in the overcast sky.

He rubbed the watch… worried that to use it too much in this climate would render it useless when he most needed it. He faced south and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He tasted salt and grit from the sand, which had adhered to it during his search of the abandoned pumping station.

He'd found several sharp pieces of metal that all three men could carry and use as shanks. They'd had a conversation about using them and whether they could slit a man's throat.

"We might have no other choice if we are to rescue the women," he'd told them solemnly and fully expecting the others to react negatively to his suggestion. But he was pleasantly surprised.

Ren had eyed the shank curiously and then nodded. Perhaps something of his memory was coming back as he'd risen and made some stylized moves with it as if reacquainting his body with something it had once known.

Gavin had laughed. "I was in Special Forces. I know how to handle myself in a fight. I left the service to get away from that life after I met Molly and married her. I may be an accountant now… but I wasn't always. I've been in several hand-to-hand battles." He held the shank to his neck and drew it across in a motion that showed he truly would have no problem slitting a man's throat.

"Stealth and surprise will be our allies," Derrick had said. Then they'd refilled the empty water bottles and added some rusty abandoned tools to their arsenal. They were made of steel and heavy. The wrench would make an effective club. The bolt cutters might come in handy as well. They'd started out as the sun had begun its arc toward the horizon and had struggled up and down, slipping and sliding in the sands that gave way far too easily beneath their feet.

Now as the shadows increased and red marked the evening sky with long tendrils of incarnadine light… the sun slowly set. Evening and darkness were on their way. Another night of unremitting darkness save for the light from the moon overhead and the stars. Derrick prayed inwardly that the thin cloud cover that had remained after the storm would lift and that they'd be able to see where they were going. He worried that they'd lost too much time. He worried that they were going in the wrong direction. He worried about how the others had braved the sandstorm and if Amber were safe. He ached to know where she was exactly and what was happening to her. Derrick figured the other two men felt the same way.

-----

The cloud-cover actually helped spread the light so that the sky seemed to glow dimly a pale gray. The muddy light, however, did not show details. Entire dunes seemed to vanish and there were no signs of dropped clothing to help them find their way.

Gavin was the first to see something dark in the white sand not far from where they were heading. It looked like a branch sticking out of the sand.

Hurriedly the men floundered in waist deep sand toward it. The closer they came, the more that branch took on the shape of an upraised hand, the fingers curled and pointing downward.

Finally reaching it they began frantically to dig. Derrick knew it wasn't an immortal… but they still had to know if this were one of the women or just some traveler who had been caught in the storm. With double handfuls, they scooped sand from around the body. The edges of the hole kept sliding back in, but finally they reached a head and brushed the sand from her inert face. None of them recognized her… but she had to be one of the hostesses. From what they could tell, she was dressed in a pale, silk blouse similar to the ones they had worn. Derrick dug a little deeper and located the wings pinned over her left breast.

All three men rolled onto their backs with a sigh. It wasn't anyone they knew… but they were still on the right track. Derrick sat up, brushed the sand carefully away from the watch and then began to work it again. He pointed to the southwest. "That way… I think?"

"You think?" Gavin gasped.

"Give him a break. He's led us this far," Ren admonished him. "Neither of us could have done better." He winked at Derrick as he rubbed the side of his head.

Derrick wondered how much more Ren Caulfield had remembered of who he was.

-----

Hours later… they saw light. Not a campfire flickering in the darkness… but something burning steadily. Derrick pointed to it and they altered their angle as they closed in on the light. It might be nothing; it might be everything.

All three men crawled to the top of the last dune and peered over the edge at the encampment. There was an old wooden building reminiscent of a bunkhouse along one side. Perpendicular to it a large tent had been pitched. A glowing red light emanated from it. Around a small campfire were gather a dozen or so men. The men took turns visiting another tent across from the first. Screams peppered the night air but the men only seemed to laugh. Off to one side, opposite the long building someone had erected a chain link fence surmounted by razor wire. On the four corners of the fenced square, floodlights had been mounted. They weren't large, but offered enough light that the men at the fire could see what was in it. The fenced area was small… but inside it there seemed to be many bodies on the ground. Occasionally they moved.

"This has to be them," Ren said and started over the edge. Derrick pulled him back.

"We may only get one chance. We have to plan this out. It will do none of them any good if we are killed on the way down."

Ren nodded, but he clearly wasn't happy about it.

After circling around to where the pen was, Derrick told the others to remain at the base of the slope as he eased up closer to the top and tried to sense whether or not he felt other immortals. He did. And they seemed to feel him. He saw two figures sit up in the pen and then rise and come to the side of the fence nearest where he was. They then sat down again. He couldn't tell who was who, but he thought one was Alisaunne because of her short hair. The other he couldn't tell for sure. He retreated down the dune.

"All right," he said. They're there." He didn't mention that he'd only seen two respond to his presence. He didn't want to worry Ren. He lifted the bolt cutters. "We ease down the other side of the dune… I'll cut a small opening to free them. Ren… be ready with that shank in case someone comes to investigate. We have to be swift and silent. Gavin… you lead them out and over the dune."

The men nodded and then climbed the dune crouching, falling to their stomachs as they reached the top.

"I'll go first," Derrick said and, with the bolt cutters in one hand and Ren's sword still buckled to his waist, scooted and slid slowly down the slope. He stopped often, keeping a close eye on the men at the campfire. Once he was on the packed sand of the encampment he crouched for a moment in the shadows and listened to the laughter of the men. They were drinking something. From the languages and accents he heard, Derrick decided that these were not necessarily Moslem Arabs, but men from many countries around the world… men of many ethnic backgrounds. At least they didn't seem too concerned about the women in the pen. They seemed more interested in whoever they were torturing.

Derrick aimed for the fence, in a careful crouch. Reaching it and sitting down with his back to it. The two immortals were on the other side.

"Derrick," whispered Amber, "I knew ya'd come."

He smiled in relief at her and held up the cutters. "Will this help?"

"Get it done and I'll start slowly waking the others," Alisaunne replied.

Derrick began to cut near the base and was working his way up. "Where's Cassandra?"

Amber shook her head. "She's the one they've got in that tent. I think they're all taking turns with her. Derrick… the leader is one of us. He asked about who was with us. He has the swords… all five of them. He knows ya'll be coming. But he thinks ya'll be alone. He's waiting for ya."

Derrick grunted as his mind whirled with the new information. His first priority was to free the women. His second to retrieve the two swords he'd been entrusted with. If what Methos and Phillip said was true, the swords were a danger to any other immortal. As for Cassandra? He didn't know what to do. How could they rescue her? How could they not?

Ren had reached the fence by this time. "Ali?" he called out softly.

"She's getting the others," Amber replied, She stuck her fingers through the fence to link them with Derrick's momentarily and then swiftly removed them when Derrick bent to kiss them. "I'll go help." In the light, he could see them waking women, making small mounds of sand to simulate where they were laying, sometimes throwing a piece of clothing over it if possible.

He made three more cuts before he thought he had enough cut for the women to squeeze through. Ren helped him fold the area back. Almost immediately Alisaunne brought the first woman to the fence. Behind her a few others began to move. Others stood and began to walk back and forth to cover the exit of the others. Thankfully, none of the women made noise or rushed to be next. Derrick was surprised but pleased. Mothers with young children were among the first to leave and be helped out and up the dune by Gavin. The problem was… with the lights, even though they weren't focused on the dune… made them have to move too slowly. Derrick was worried. Someone was going to see something.

He motioned to Alisaunne. "We may have to kill the lights."

Alisaunne nodded as she eased through the fence and gave Ren a fast kiss. "Weapons?"

Derrick handed her the bolt cutters. "Will these work?"

She hefted them. "What do you want me to do? Throws this at the bulbs or…" She grinned. "Cut the power," she said at the same time as Derrick.

He laughed and then removed Ren's sword from his waist. "Take this too."

"Won't you be needing that?"

Derrick stared at her sadly. How to tell her that if the great sword and the others were in the tent, as Amber had mentioned, he'd have no need of another. "I'll be fine. He reached out to her as she prepared to move. "Ren, go with her. And one at a time… so it looks like…"

"They're burning out," she concluded with a wink. "That means at the poles."

"That means some of the men will investigate," Ren added.

"Derrick nodded. "Can't be helped. We have to thin the group anyway. Stay far away from that tent though."

"Why?" asked Ren curiously.

Derrick tapped the side of his head. "That headache you have? It will get worse."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Ali said, grabbing Ren's arm.

By this time, almost half of the women had made their way out of the pen and over the dune. The rest were milling around and still trying to make it look like they were all there and just restless. Someone had begun to sing. Soon the others joined in the chorus. Derrick thought it was an Italian folk song. He wasn't certain the music was a good idea, but it would cover any noise they made. He was surprised when Gavin showed up at his side.

"Molly and Shannon are fine. I've told them to take charge and gather the others. I've left them the bags filled with water and food and the weapons."

What's done was done. Derrick hoped that the women knew enough not to drink all the water and eat the spare rations all at once. "Go around to the right carefully. If anyone comes to investigate…"

"Slit their throat. Got it. I'll also confiscate weapons." He headed off even as Amber eased through the fence.

"You need to take care of that immortal," she said. "Without him… the others might not bother with us. They don't seem to make a move unless he orders it."

Derrick nodded. "I know. And if he has the swords… I have to get them." There didn't seem any way out of that.

He touched the side of her head and smiled as he rubbed a thumb over her cheek. She shook free. "We're wasting time."

"Wait," he said and unstrapped the watch from his wrist. "It has a GPS function. Use it sparingly and head west toward the coordinates I have in the Save function. As soon as everyone is out… go. Don't wait for me. The further you and the others are away from here when things erupt, the better off you will be. Use water sparingly. There's even less food. I'll send Gavin back when I can." He stopped, his mind whirling and trying to think if he'd forgotten anything.

Amber kissed him briefly and lightly, pulling back quickly, biting her lip and looking uncomfortable. She rubbed her lips briefly. "We'll be fine." Amber strapped the watch on. "Be careful ma boyo."

"Yes ma'am," he replied with a sad smile.

She turned and began doing what he'd been doing… helping someone through the fence and directing them slowly and surely over the dune.

Derrick turned and followed Gavin around the right side of the pen.

-----

Reaching one of the corner posts of the pen, Alisaunne found the cable reaching from the generator. She wrapped her leather coat around the wooden handles and then placed the bolt cutters against the cable on the pole and breathed in deeply. "Here goes nothing," Swiftly she cut the power to the light on that pole. It went out. "One down, she whispered.

They began to ease along the fence to the next one. Ahead of them they saw two men ambling along toward them. They flattened against the fence hoping the men when they passed would think they were on the inside. Ren held the shank ready. Thankfully the men, laughing and apparently a little drunk passed them by. As soon as they had, the two immortals rose and attacked.

Ren grabbed one man and neatly slit his throat. Alisaunne brought the bolt cutters down on the head of the other with a heavy clunk. The two men dropped, dead before they hit the earth. Swiftly the two immortals retrieved anything from them that they could use as weapons and dragged the bodies close to the fence. Then they continued to the second light.

They could hear laughter from the campfire and could count at least a dozen men still there. Two others were on their way around the other side of the pen. Likely both sets of men had been sent to investigate the "burned-out" light. So far, so good; and no one was paying any attention to the slowly diminishing group of women in the small pen.

Reaching the second light, Alisaunne repeated the process. Now the two lights furthest from the campfire were out. That would surely bring someone else to investigate. Ren motioned for them to head back the way they'd come.

"I can't. I have to get Cassandra."

Ren looked at the men around the campfire. "How?"

"Cut through the back of that tent? Are you up for it?"

"Why not. We can only die once."

Alisaunne chuckled and reached to kiss him. "That's what you think."

"Huh?"

"Tell ya later."

He grabbed her arm. "I died on the plane. I came back to life. How?"

Alisaunne sucked in a great breath and then shook her head. "Later… I promise." She led the way toward the smaller tent. Just short of it she could sense Cassandra inside and could hear her screaming at the men who were with her. She was Alisaunne's confidant and friend. She owed her this… no matter what the consequences.

They reached the tent and Cassandra stopped screaming… evidently sensing them. Ren rubbed his head and shook it as if trying to clear it. The men inside laughed raucously. With determination, Ren lifted the shank and used it to slice the fabric. Alisaunne drew Ren's sword and counted down from three with her fingers and then they slipped into the tent. Ren had a feeling they'd done this before… he just couldn't remember when or where… but it had something to do with Germans and World War II.

-----

In much the same way as Ren and Alisaunne had disposed of the two men who'd come toward them, Derrick and Gavin took care of the pair on their side and collected their weapons. Only one man got out a grunt as Derrick snapped his neck. The other gurgled for a few seconds as he slipped dying to the sand. Gavin searched him and came up with a knife. He grinned and twirled it. As he started to throw the shank away, Derrick grabbed it and stuck it down his boot. "Waste not, want not. Let's go."

As they inched toward the campfire, Derrick knew he would be sensed by the immortal in moments. He stopped and cleared his mind, mentally preparing himself for yet another duel to the death. He caught a glimpse of Alisaunne and Ren heading toward the back of the smaller tent where Cassandra was evidently held. He closed his eyes and wished them well. If nothing else, maybe the diversion would give him a chance.

"What now Fearless Leader?" Gavin asked with a wink. "You take the six on the left and I take the six on the right?"

Derrick shook his head. "No… you go back now. Your wife and daughter need you and you will only get yourself killed here. They and the rest of the group need you. Go back Gavin. Take care of what's important."

Gavin looked crestfallen.

"Gavin, listen to me. We've killed some of them, but not enough. Ren, Alisaunne and I will handle them. But someone has to go with the women."

"But I'm the professional here. I know what to do."

"And if these men kill us and follow the women, who will know how to protect them then?" Derrick waited a moment for Gavin to consider his words. Then the man nodded.

"All right… but I don't like it."

Derrick smiled. "Feel few to kill any man you meet between here and getting to the women. Quietly of course."

Gavin chuckled. "Yeah… quietly. All right _mon capitan_… you win. I hope to see you on the other side."

Derrick nodded. "Peace be with you."

Gavin shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear that was a priestly blessing."

"Maybe… I had an unusual childhood," Derrick replied thoughtfully. He clasped the man on the shoulder. "Take care… keep them safe. Amber knows about the GPS and has the coordinates to reach the nearest town. When you get there… go to the nearest embassy or to the authorities. I don't know how big the town is so I don't know what all is there. But once you get to civilization… you and the others should be safe. We'll follow if we survive."

Gavin nodded. He grinned as he pointed at a man who was calling out to the missing and now dead men… wondering where they were. "I may get my chance to kill someone else," he said and started off back along the fence line.

Derrick watched him go. Then he took a deep breath and crouched as he closed in on the back of the large tent. Just outside of it he felt the immortal. He swallowed hard and eased around to the front. The men at the campfire saw nothing. Derrick pushed aside the hangings over the entrance and entered… standing tall as he did so.

-----


	38. Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty-Six 

**Paris, 3 January 2024:**

Albert "Burt" Meyers moved the mouse as he surfed through police files from around the world. Normally the Watchers had some lowly clerk doing this duty rather than the head of Security and New Watcher Training. But this was a favor for his father-in-law.

"Mac's out there somewhere. Find him for me," he'd told Burt confidentially. "He's gone off the radar before… sometimes for as much as a year… but I have a bad feeling about this. Just nose around. Don't break any rules… don't get into trouble… but see if there's anything on him."

Burt had glanced across the crowded reception hall at his wife, chatting with a number of new trainees, and had nodded. Despite being in his mid fifties, Burt was still in great shape. He worked out daily, and his job training the new trainees in self-defense kept him hard as a rock. Amy, ten years younger still had a glow to her that he found irresistible. He felt blessed to have found her and to have had the twins with her. He didn't want to endanger that relationship. On the other hand, Joe was his father-in-law and from all accounts one hell of a Watcher in his time. He felt he owed him.

"I'll keep it on the Q.T. for the moment Joe. I can't guarantee I'll find anything… and if I do… I may have to report it."

"Yeah," Joe replied. "But just look for me. You've got more access and I don't want to worry Amy. Mac's been gone too long. What if he's been arrested or confined somewhere. He's an immortal Burt… they don't do well in prison."

So here he was, doing a fairly simple search of the **_Interpol_** database and various police organizations worldwide. Fairly early he'd found the **_Interpol_** APB on Duncan MacLeod that was dated back in September. He skimmed it but moved on. Joe knew about that one. He'd even mentioned it. The report did not list Duncan MacLeod as apprehended or dead. The APB was still out on him.

Next he began searching the databases of the police in the countries MacLeod had likely traveled to between France and Russia. He had no luck there either.

"He'd have changed his name," Burt said after sitting back and thinking for a while as he stared at the screen. This time he entered a physical description of MacLeod based on his appearance. He ran another search and while it was searching… he rose to pour himself a cup of coffee from the carafe. It was empty.

He looked toward the ceiling and shook his head as he held the empty carafe in one hand and his empty mug in the other. "Why me, Lord?" Shaking his head he left the office to get fresh water and to brew another pot. Behind him on the desk, a mug shot of a bearded man named Dmitri Abernov who had been apprehended in Russia popped up on the screen with the banner "Deceased", flashing over it. When he wasn't there to pause it and save it, the search moved on. By the time he returned, brewed his coffee, filled a mug and returned to his desk, the search had concluded. He missed the "1" on the search results at the bottom of the screen and shut it off with a snarl. "Damn." He'd have to try something else.

"Hospitals. Immortals hate hospitals. Wonder why? Maybe it's the food." Chuckling, he punched in the description again with the added parameter of a patient who had vanished, and sat back to wait. Nothing came up.

Burt snapped his fingers. "He's changed his look… but he can't change his size." He altered the description and ran it again. He sat back and drank his coffee while he watched the search in progress. A few came up; he paused the search on them and then resumed it. None of them seemed quite right.

When it was completed he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think. "What am I not taking into consideration?" he mumbled.

His office door opened. "Hi stranger. I thought we were on for lunch?" Amy smiled raising her watch and tapping it.

"Oh babe, I got so interested in this I forgot the time. Sorry. He snapped off the machine as he rose, crossed to his wife and gave her an affectionate kiss. "Now then… am I forgiven?"

"Maybe, depends on where we go for lunch."

"Oh I get it. I'm late, so you hold me up for a meal at a five star restaurant."

"Well maybe not a five star. I doubt we can afford that," she laughed.

"But I guess the hot dog cart in front of the building is out?"

She slipped an arm through his, "Oh most definitely. So what was this little project you were working on?"

"Just checking some databases for odd occurrences."

"Looking for anyone in particular?"

"I just like to keep my hand in," he said. "So what about **_La Coupe d'Or_**? He suggested as he closed the door behind him.

Amy laughed. "I think _that_ would be lovely."

-----

Alone in the solarium, Joe Dawson paused between the parallel bars he used for exercise and took a deep breath. The doctor had recommended regulated exercise under specific conditions to try and strengthen his weakened heart. The new lighter alloy legs with the computerized sensors and servos made taking steps a lot easier than the old kind, so walking some was now recommended. He just wasn't supposed to go out on his own yet.

Joe had been considering doing just that. He didn't feel like an invalid… he never had. Yes he was seventy-five years old his last birthday… but he was still in good shape. He was slimmer, more muscular, and, he felt, stronger. But there were the twins to consider. He wanted to be here for them as long as possible. He didn't want to lose those relationships. Still… he chafed to be out doing what he'd always done and Watching Duncan MacLeod.

"Mac… if we find you, I'm gonna stick like glue to your ass," he smirked. Then, with a chortle, with one hand resting and sliding lightly along the right bar to steady himself, he walked easily to his wheel chair and took a seat. "I'll be ready for bear before long," he said to himself and then pressed the control to whiz out of the solarium and into the hallway.

Passing Madeline, primping in the mirror, he said, "Morning girl… You ready for another thrilling day of research and organization?"

She turned and beamed at him. "Of course. And you say that like this is a bad thing. I'm loving this job more and more."

Joe laughed and headed into the study. He maneuvered behind the desk, pulled up the official files on Duncan, and studied where he'd left off. "Right… Xavier St. Cloud." He leaned back in his chair and tried to recall that time. Ah yes… Mac had seen him with Horton and misunderstood everything. Their burgeoning friendship had almost been trashed before they'd had a real chance. He grinned and turned on the recorder. "Duncan MacLeod has always had a very strong sense of right and wrong. But he is also quick to judge others… even when he doesn't have all the facts."

Madeline took a seat at her desk and as quietly as she could, commenced ordering the loose documents that made up Joe's portion of MacLeod's Chronicle.

-----

**Hong Kong, January 2024:**

The hustle and bustle of Hong Kong was a change from the slower pace of Moscow. Reagan and Steven were lost in a sea of humanity as they strode purposely along one of the main streets. They'd arrived a few hours ago at the private airport, had passed easily through security with Reagan's credentials as an authorized bounty hunter pursuing a suspect. The clerk at customs had given her a documents a cursory inspection and stamped them. The case with the weapons, their swords hidden in an ex-ray proof compartment, also passed easily and Reagan received a temporary license to carry them within the city of Hong Kong only.

Steven's papers as the owner of a popular nightclub, come to check on his investment, were likewise passed through without comment.

From the airport, they'd taken a taxi to Steven's house, unpacked, secured their weapons on their person, and took another taxi into the city's hub.

They'd been walking for two blocks. "I don't recall a hospital in this area," Steven commented as a bicycle nearly ran him down.

"I want to stop by the hotel first. That's where he and a female partner, likely Amanda, were when the local EMT's took them away. I believe in finding out all I can before making any move. Just stand there and look intelligent. Having money ready to pay off someone for information would also be appreciated."

"How much money?" Steven asked dubiously.

"Just enough to loosen a tongue. Haven't you ever paid for information?" Reagan laughed, taking his arm and kissing his cheek. She felt more comfortable with him since their night together. He really was a sweetheart and definitely worth keeping around for a bit.

Once inside the upscale hotel, Reagan asked at the desk for Duncan, using the name and ID that he'd left Russia with. The desk clerk checked on his computer and evidently seeing something, made a discreet call to the manager.

Reagan waited patiently, looking around at the architecture… all glass and steel with touches of Chinese faux artifacts in the decorating scheme. Finally the manager arrived with a curt and very slight bow. "You are looking for a Mr. Gruber? We have had no one registered here by that name."

"But he was here," Reagan said, flashing her badge. "He's a known drug dealer… something new and very unusual." She smiled. "I know you know he was here. I just need to know what happened here."

The manager glared at her. "What our guests do is confidential."

Reagan inclined her head. "But he wasn't a guest. He was just in the room with a guest."

The manager pulled at the collar of his starched white shirt and cleared his throat.

Steven stepped to him and shook his hand, neatly leaving a few folded bills behind. "It's very important I find my friend before he gets himself into too much trouble."

The manager glanced down at his hand. A small smile betrayed his acknowledgement of the bribe. "Drugs… yes. We do not approve of drug use by our clients. He evidently gave some to a woman who was staying here. It was necessary to break into the room. It was quite a mess. I hope we do not have another scene like this if people try this new drug. What is it called?"

"Passiondust," Reagan lied smoothly.

The manager nodded. "That would make sense. The two were so into having sex that neither seemed to be able to function or understand anything else. There was even blood everywhere despite the lack of exterior wounds."

"Blood?" murmured Steven. He shot a questioning glance at Reagan. She didn't seem to know what that was about either. She shook her head slightly. He remained mum.

"Yes… profuse bleeding is a side effect at one point, Reagan explained logically. "So… he met with one of your clients… decided to test the drug with her… and ended up caught. Did the police arrest them?"

"No drug was found. They were sent to **_People's Hospital_**… the mental ward I believe.

"What about their effects? Are they still here? Anything in the safe?" Reagan pressed.

The manager cleared his throat and wriggled his fingers for another bribe. Steven handed him several more bills. Once more the manager smiled and then bowed. "All of their effects accompanied them to the hospital."

"May I see the room?"

The manager sighed, nodded and snapped his fingers. "Accompany these two to room 1415. Give them a few moments in there alone. Then escort them back down here." He bowed to both Reagan and Steven, pivoted and walked away.

"That was easier than I expected," Reagan said as the two immortals followed the bellhop into the elevator.

"That was cheaper than I expected," smirked Steven.

Reagan winked at him. On the fourteenth floor, they were led along a plush corridor, evidently decorated with a wealthy clientele in mind. The damaged door to 1415 was unlocked and they entered.

Broken furniture littered the room. Blood was splashed on walls and carpet. Even in the bathroom it was apparent. The mattress on the bed was soaked with it. Reagan and Steven examined but did not touch anything. The drawers were all open and empty. No toiletries remained in the bathroom.

"What were they doing?" Steven asked, his face aghast.

"I have no idea. Maybe fighting as foreplay?"

"Weapons weren't mentioned."

Reagan shook her head. "Damn! I was afraid I might have forgotten something." She crouched near a splattering on the floor that showed a void of blood in the approximate shape of MacLeod's duffle bag. "Maybe the bags weren't searched. Damn it! This makes no sense. He and Amanda have known each other for centuries. They both know how to play the game and how to have fun without attracting attention."

"Passiondust?" Steven smirked.

"Well I had to come up with something," Reagan laughed as she shook her head. "I was making it up as I went along."

"Nicely done though. Very believable considering some of the drugs that _are _on the black market."

Reagan eyed him skeptically.

Steven shrugged. "I run night clubs. It's in my best interest to know about what's out there so I can keep an eye on my clubs. I have to keep them running legally or the police will shut me down."

"Makes sense."

"I have my uses. Are we done here? Where to now?"

Reagan blew him a kiss. "Police headquarters. I have to check in with them anyway. Standard procedure."

They left the ruins of Room 1415 and rode in silence down the elevator with the bellhop. Steven passed him a tip for his trouble as the two left the elevator and passed through the lobby to the street.

They were flagging a taxi when the bellhop came out and rattled in Mandarin. Steven threw his hands up. "Whoa slow down. Mine's not that good."

Reagan's brow knotted in confusion. "I think he said we're not the first to have seen the room."

She labored to ask that question of the bellhop and who it was in Mandarin.

He looked around over his shoulder and then gave them a name. Terrified he turned and ran.

"Guess that was a huge tip you gave him," Reagan said with a smirk.

"Guess so. Wonder what had him so spooked?"

"Either losing his job or this Mr. Fong he mentioned."

Steven shook his head. "I know most of the heavy hitters in organized crime here in Hong Kong. He's a new one on me."

"Ho Chen Fong," Reagan mused. She shrugged. "Maybe the police might know something about him. She raised her arm for the taxi that was even now pulling to the curb in front of the hotel.

As he opened the door, Steven said quietly. "Wonder if it's one of us?"

That gave Reagan pause. She didn't like the implications if that were so.

-----


	39. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**Somewhere in the desert:**

Once inside the tent, Derrick blinked and hesitated to allow his eyes time to adjust. Before him was a brazier of hot red coals. To either side of the brazier, four swords were inserted into the sand. One of them was the sword he sought… the Great Sword. The others were Alisaunne's _wakizashi_, Amber's borrowed cutlass, and Cassandra's bastard broadsword. Amongst silk cushions on the far side of the tent, he could see a dark figure sitting cross-legged. Kabir's scimitar lay in his lap.

"I've been expecting you."

"I thought you might raise the alarm," Derrick replied.

"Our game is not for the eyes of the unworthy."

"Then I may take my sword and go?" Derrick asked.

"You may take any of them and fight me… here. My men know better than to enter my tent uninvited," the other said sharply and rose, stepping into the light. He was bare-chested, muscular but not overly so. On his legs were dark, possibly black silk trousers in the style of this land. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and his beard was neatly trimmed. "I am he whom you may call the Egyptian. My name is of no importance. Our kind trade names as if they were coins of the realm."

He was shorter than Derrick; about six foot two inches. Derrick could feel a strong sense of power and age from him… and oddly… about him was no aura that he was truly a danger to Derrick. Perhaps he was a man of reason.

"There was one more sword," Derrick said, moving closer to the brazier.

"Ah yes… this one." The Egyptian held up the scimitar. "Truly I have seen this one before. She is the Sword of Righteousness that wise men claim was the sword an angel used to ban mortal man from the Garden of Eden. You have heard this story?"

"I've heard it," Derrick admitted. "Its previous owner called it that… Righteousness."

"Yes. This previous owner… was he called Kabir?"

Derrick nodded. "He was. A friend of yours?"

"Hardly… our kind doesn't make friends." He paced to the left thoughtfully. "Which intrigued me when my men brought three immortal ladies to my camp. They were friends. When I saw the swords, I realized that there were two more of you, likely killed in the aftermath of the crash." He smiled widely. "This aroused my curiosity. Are the women yours? Do you protect them? "

Derrick laughed. "Oh… they can protect themselves."

"Yes… they told me nothing despite rigorous… questioning. I had to have one tortured and raped by my men as an example. Are they your harem?"

Derrick's jaw tightened and he gritted his teeth as he thought of Cassandra enduring this brutal treatment. To prevent the Egyptian from seeing his consternation, he laughed out loud. "I don't think that is the way of our kind either."

"Yes. Pity, for I would enjoy a companion who was immortal… a female of course. I've never dared to chance it, though. You must be very powerful to have killed Kabir. He was very good. A little obsessed, perhaps… but he was good with a blade."

Derrick nodded. "He was good. I was lucky."

"Somehow I do not think luck had anything to do with it. Give me your name, so that when I send you to Paradise I might sing your praises to the gods."

Derrick shrugged. "I'm no one of importance. My friends call me Derrick." He leaned forward to pull the Great Sword free of the sand.

"I might have need of a lieutenant… someone to properly train my men. Would you be interested?" the Egyptian asked.

"As you said… our kind don't work well together. At least some don't."

"Some? My dear boy, none of us truly trust one another… not if we want to keep our heads."

"The day is coming when the game shall end. Immortals will reclaim their past and live together in peace and harmony." Derrick surprised himself with those words. It was what Methos and the others were striving for on Niebos. Perhaps he'd said too much.

"I would see that day," the Egyptian sighed. "I was a scholar in my first life. I would be a scholar again."

"Then let me take my weapons and depart."

The Egyptian held the scimitar up and ran his fingers slowly along the blade, waving it slightly so it seemed to be living flame. "I fear that is impossible. This sword is now mine… as is that one you drew from the sand. Both speak to me and tell me I am he who must bring justice and righteousness to the people. I am to be their Champion."

Derrick nodded. "You hear them too. Know this, they lie."

The Egyptian threw back his head and laughed merrily. "We shall see Little Brother, we shall see."

The two began to circle the brazier and swords. Derrick's eyes watched every move of the Egyptian, seeking a weakness, or an opening. He also glanced again and again at was underfoot… smooth packed sand. He worried about a hole, or something uneven. This was the Egyptian's arena of choice… not his. So far, from what he could tell, the surface appeared packed and hard with only a small dusting of loose sand on top.

The Egyptian twirled the _kris_-edged scimitar in both hands with an elegance and economy of motion. Clearly he had used weapons of this type before. No wonder he had chosen it. In the glow from the brazier, the sword reflected light as it moved. It was entrancing.

Derrick blinked. He needed to watch the man… not the sword. He focused on what he could see of the Egyptian, his oiled skin shining in the light, his arms moving one way while his feet seemed to dance another. Even watching him could be entrancing. Derrick would miss a move.

Even as Derrick thought it, the Egyptian slashed forward and down. Derrick realized it just before it cut into his arm. He moved and avoided the worst of it. He hissed in pain as he turned and clasped the wound, feeling the blood drip down his arm. He managed to parry the follow-up blow.

"You can use that thing one-handed!" the Egyptian laughed as he settled back into his waiting routine, twirling the blade, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

"Practice," Derrick said with gritted teeth. He also recalled Methos warning him not to be complacent in a fight. "Expect the unexpected!" the ancient immortal had told him. "Do the unexpected!"

Derrick grabbed the hilt of the Great Sword in both hands and attacked with swift cuts left and right. The Egyptian seemed to expect the move. The scimitar met the broadsword and sparks flew as blade hit blade. Yet Derrick still pushed him back several steps.

Then the Egyptian did a side handspring to the right… managing to move between two of the swords still imbedded in the sand. When he came up… Alisaunne's _wakizashi_ was in his other hand. He bent his knees and posed, drawing both swords in opposite directions horizontally before him.

Derrick paused and shook the sweat from his eyes. This tent was hot and stuffy with the brazier. No wonder the Egyptian was so lightly dressed. He settled back into his stance, attempting to betray nothing, the broadsword ready before him. He could feel sweat trickling down his back and moist patches under his arms and in the region of his groin. Derrick focused on the Egyptian, refusing to let his own discomfort distract him. His arm was beginning to heal and itched mightily.

Outside the tent he heard gunshots.

-----

When Cassandra had attempted to use her voice on the Egyptian during the interrogation… he'd slammed a fist into her jaw, breaking it for the second time in as many days. She'd dropped to her knees while he'd had her gagged.

Then in front of the other two immortals, he'd raped her roughly from behind while his men held her bent over a table. When he was finished… the Egyptian had whispered in her ear. "Your man will come and I will take his head."

Cassandra had tried to fight loose. Amber and Alisaunne likewise had risen from their knees to fight beside her. They'd all had enough of this immortal. Despite their best efforts and taking out several of the Egyptian's men, they'd all been wrestled to the ground.

"Take that one and let each man do with her as he wishes. But do not remove her gag. She can scream at you… but not talk. Nor may you kill her. Now go!" he'd ordered. As she was being dragged protesting from the tent, she could see him lean over the prostrate Alisaunne and she could hear him say, "Now lovely one… will you tell me what I wish or are you next?"

Cassandra had no more chance to know what happened. Dragged into a smaller tent, she was secured with chains while bent over a table. One by one the men came at her. She'd screamed and hurled insults at them, unable to speak them plainly or to use her voice. She'd kicked at them until she had no strength left. In turn, she was bitten, hit, punched, whipped, stripped of clothing and raped repeatedly. Sometimes she sagged on the table's surface and sobbed, mixing those with her screams as each new man found some other way to inflict more pain and new forms of degradation upon her. One brought in a heated knife and began branding her with it.

Time had seemed interminable. They let up if she became delirious or seemed to be passing out… they gave her no food, no water… nor did they unchain her. She lost track of time and place as man after man came and used her, whispering insults in her ears as she by turns screamed or whimpered.

When she felt the closeness of an immortal at the tent, she feared the Egyptian was coming for her head. She lifted her gagged head slightly and realized the immortal, no two immortals, was at the rear of the tent. It had to be Derrick! He'd come for her. Just then one of the two men in the tent with her applied the hot knife again to the inside of one of her thighs. She screamed and prayed that the scream would cover the entrance of her rescuers.

-----

Alisaunne was the first one into the tent. She stabbed Ren's claymore straight into the mortal who was standing there laughing. With a flying leap Ren grabbed at the man using the knife to burn Cassandra and wrestled him to the ground.

Pushing the dead man off of the end of her sword, Ali grabbed a discarded robe and threw it over Cassandra's back. "It's all right. We're here," she said as she undid the gag and cut her friend's bonds.

Cassandra just lay there for a moment… calling on inner reserves. Then she stood up and slowly and stiffly pulled the robe over her naked body. She held her hand out for the claymore. Alisaunne gave it to her.

By this time, the hijacker had Ren on the ground and was bringing the still hot knife to bear on Ren's throat. Ren was pushing against it with one hand while he fumbled with the automatic to bring it up and fire.

Cassandra got to the man first. She shoved the claymore through him and after withdrawing it, began to hack at him with a vengeance.

Ren sat up in dismay. "Forgot about the gun. I guess I'm not used to guns." He shied away from Cassandra's fury.

Alisaunne meanwhile was searching the tent and the other man for weapons. Finding a few knives, and two machine guns, she shoved the knives into her belt and watched Cassandra. When the psychic was done… she turned and hacked at the body of the other man. She was crying by this time and just lashing out. Alisaunne leaned over her and gently put her hand on Cassandra's.

"They're dead now. You can let go."

Cassandra raised her blood-splattered face to Alisaunne. She nodded numbly and released the claymore. Alisaunne handed her a machine gun. "We're getting out of here now."

Cassandra looked at it and then pulled the bolt back. She grinned and hefted it. "Let's kill the bastards." She led the way to the front flap of the tent. The three immortals peered out at the ten men still sitting there drinking and joking around. Clearly spending the night raping a woman over and over had put them at ease and in a good mood.

Ren reached out to pull her back softly. "Forget it Cassandra. Such vengeance is beneath you."

Cassandra turned to issue an angry retort, and then stopped. Instead she said, "So you know me?"

Ren smiled. "Aye Lady. Ya are the Morrigan of the Battlefield, the Witch of Donan wood, the Prophetess and Seer." Ren touched her cheek and nodded. "Aye… I remember ya well enough, Lady. I remember." He turned to Alisaunne and gave her a courtly bow.

"My real name is Warren Cochrane of Helensbugh, Strathclyde."

Alisaunne smiled with a smirk. "Oh… well mine's still Ali. Can I still call you Ren?"

He nodded with a grin and then turned back to Cassandra. "Think about this Cassandra. Our job is to get those women out of here safely. What happens if we start shooting those men at the campfire? We don't know how many more are in that wooden structure… how many more might be nearby. If they have vehicles to pursue us in? If we start killing them out of hand and alerting the rest… they will find the women. They might kill us in the process. We have what… four automatic weapons to their dozen or so… more if we awaken more men. If we die here… that immortal who's about will take our heads. If we die here… there is only Amber and Gavin to protect them."

"You don't know what he did!" hissed Cassandra. "And who's Gavin?"

"I can guess," Ren replied and then added. "A mortal who was on the plane and who survived the slaughter."

"He did it to me too," Alisaunne offered quietly, so softly she wasn't even certain the others heard her.

They did. Cassandra drew in a deep breath. Ren turned to look at Alisaunne and she could see the pain that comment brought him. He struggled with his next words, which came out haltingly. "If I _ever_… meet him in combat… I will kill him. So help me God."

"Stand in line," Alisaunne said. "Still… you _are _right that we need to leave quietly… the same way we came in. Those pretend bodies we left in the compound won't fool them for much longer. We have to have time to erase our trail across the desert or lay a fake one. We're running out of time."

Ren nodded. "Agreed." He turned to Cassandra who still gripped the automatic rifle tightly. "Let you anger go for the moment. There may be another chance… one that will allow us to pay them back properly for what they did."

Cassandra shook visibly as her internal fight continued. Finally she sighed and nodded. The three slipped out of the rear of the tent and carefully made their way back to the fence line.

They had a fearful moment when one of the men rose and stared at the pen, commenting to his friends that those women had gotten awfully quiet.

Alisaunne pointed to the generator. "Wonder if the other two lights need to burn out? Would that give us time? Or cause them to scramble sooner?"

Ren glanced at the distance they still had to travel. "In the dark, we could move faster. They'd still have to investigate, learn the women were gone, and decide on following. Go for it!"

Alisaunne hefted the bolt cutters and crouching, made her way to the generator. She looked at it and then had another thought. She pierced open the gas tank with the edge of the cutters. Diesel fuel ran all over the sand as she backed away from it. "Count to ten," she whispered once she'd returned to their side. "This way, they'll hear the sputtering as it runs out of fuel. They might not think it's anything important."

"Ya are a wickedly clever girl sometimes," Ren said as he kissed her briefly with a grin.

"You have no idea," she replied.

The generator began to sputter. The two remaining floodlights dimmed, flickered, and then went out. The three immortals raced for the path the women had taken over the dune and retreated, erasing all signs they could see of the way they'd gone.

Behind them they could hear the comments of the men, angry that the lights had gone out. Only the soft glow of the braziers in the two tents and campfire offered light. Even the sky seemed darker as if the cloud cover had intensified. Even as the trio was vanishing over the dune and continuing their erasure of passage, they heard shots ring out.

"Derrick!" Cassandra said suddenly and tried to race back.

Ren held onto her as she struggled. 'There's nothing you can do. Either he's alive and captured or he's dead. I didn't see a quickening go off, so I'd say captured. We canna help him now." Finally she nodded her head. There was nothing more they could do here. They had to catch up with the women and protect them.

-----

Derrick refused to let the gunshot distract him. He blinked away the dripping sweat from his eyes and shifted his stance.

The Egyptian laughed. "I think my men have your friend. I shall take his head later."

"You have to defeat me first!" Derrick snapped. He was worried… and hated letting the Egyptian know that.

His opponent grinned. "But of course." With that he sped forward, slashing back and forth with both of the swords in his hands. Derrick swung back and forth, parrying the blades and trying to keep his defenses set so that the Egyptian saw no opening. He failed. The _wakizashi_ sliced into his side. He grunted, adjusted his defense and kept it up until both men exhausted fell back to catch their breath. Derrick pressed a hand to his side, hoping he wouldn't lose too much blood. They circled the brazier and remaining swords one more time.

Derrick's left foot dragged a bit as they circled, a sign he was wounded severely. He gritted his teeth as wave after wave of pain hit him from the wound in his side. He needed time to recover and he sincerely doubted the Egyptian would give it to him. His left hand felt slick with blood. Spots danced before his eyes. _Don't rush in_, he thought_. Watch for that moment when you have a clear move… like… chess._ For a moment he saw the two of them from overhead, like two kings circling about on the chessboard. The way to win was to back the Egyptian into a corner from which he couldn't escape. _How does that translate here?_ He wondered.

Suddenly his opponent swept forward again, tossing the _wakizashi_ into the sand, swinging the scimitar with both hands. Derrick ducked and turned. One of the Egyptian's hands grasped Derrick's unshorn hair and pulled as he swept past him, dragging Derrick with him.

Derrick yelped in pain and dropped the Great Sword as his hands rose to his head in reaction to the sudden pain. _Idiot!_ The word directed at himself managed to thrust through his thoughts. He gritted his teeth and yanked away, feeling the rip of skin and hair, but neatly missing the downward thrust of the scimitar on his neck. He rolled for several feet, grabbing Cassandra's broadsword as he rolled and regained his feet. Blood now mingled with the sweat pouring down the side of his face.

The Egyptian pause to lower the scimitar and laughed. "I see why you say you are lucky. No man has ever avoided a death blow when I used that move." He bowed, still in a good mood. About him, Derrick still saw no sense of true danger. He rubbed his side. It was still open. He was running out of time. He ran a hand over his face and shook the hair from his eyes. The Egyptian's men were running around outside now… he could hear their confusion. If he didn't manage to finish this now… he would _be_ finished. Derrick staggered as _vertigo_ hit him. The blood loss was becoming too much.

"Perhaps we should rest and take refreshment," the Egyptian said. "I can send for someone to serve us."

Derrick shook his head. "I don't think so. Like you said… our battles are not for them." He wiped his bloodied hand on his shirt and grasped the lighter broadsword in both hands, wishing he had his own. He took three steps forward, stopped and wavered. He went down on one knee as even the reddish light of the brazier began to darken to black. He felt the scimitar under his neck.

"You have fought well Derrick of no land and no people. I will honor your sacrifice." The scimitar was lifted away.

Derrick's bloodied hand fumbled for the shank in his boot. In one swift move, he collapsed entirely, sliced through the Egyptian's right ankle, and rolled away once more. He came up slowly as the Egyptian howled. He'd finally drawn blood on his opponent.

-----


	40. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**Hong Kong, January 2024:**

Following their visit to the Hong Kong crime bureau, Reagan Cole and Steven Keane followed up what little they had learned about Ho Chen Fong and visited Steven's nightclub so that he could ask the club's manager about Fong.

"He is said to be very powerful," Chou Lieu told him. He has not been seen in here, but several of the crime figures have had dealings with him… and none to their advantage. It is as if the man has nine lives. Several swear they have killed him… only for him to return and take revenge. He is said to be a one-man vigilante."

Steven's eyes met Reagan. Fong might be an immortal looking for MacLeod. Or he might simply be another immortal like some they'd heard of, watching over _his_ city and the mortals he protected. Steven took a quick breath and told Lieu, "See what more you can find out about him. I'll pay handsomely for concrete information."

Lieu bowed, but the greed showed in his shining eyes. Likely he'd take a cut of whatever Keane offered an informant. Likely he'd try to make it look like he had found the information. He turned and left.

Reagan leaned her head near Steven's. "Do you trust him?"

Steven chuckled. "Of course not. He skims a little from the profits each quarter, but that's the price of doing business here. He does keep things running smoothly when I'm not around and I've no real complaints."

"He does seem to have take a strong hand with the help," Reagan mused. "But if it keeps things running smoothly here, and if he's loyal… might be all right."

"It's getting late," Steven said with a glance at the door. "Hotel? Eat here? What?"

"Let's stay here a while. I'd like to see how this club matches up with the one in Moscow and how well Lieu works the crowd. I want to see if we get any one who bites. Fong may be the best way to learn what is going on with MacLeod."

"Besides it's too late to visit a patient at **_People's Hospital_**?" Steven grinned.

"Just a bit," Reagan replied. "I don't want to go in with guns blazing if I can help it. If he's on the mental ward, he's likely safe… more or less… unless he's drugged. Somehow… I don't think he will be."

An hour later, a nearby restaurant delivered a private catered meal, and Steven and Reagan made the most of it… eating with relish and real hunger. They'd hardly stopped all day since landing and they were hungrier than they'd thought. Finishing up, they pushed back their plates and continued to observe the club's clientele… and the social butterfly that was Chen Lieu as he hovered over some clients, and moved from table to table, speaking with all and ordering the staff to wait on the table.

Reagan noticed a few of the men stared suspiciously at their table and at them.

"We're busted," Reagan sighed.

"Bound to happen. Almost no one but Chinese frequent the place," Steven said as he wiped his mouth and then met the gaze of one man. Steven bowed his head in respect. The man looked away and appeared to be talking to the men around the table… ordering them perhaps… as one rose, bowed to the man and then came to stand by their table with a little throat clearing noise as he stood there.

Steven sat back in his chair and looked over the man from head to toe. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"My employer wishes to honor you and has asked that I give you some information that you are seeking."

Without concern, Steven turned back to the table. "What concern would that be?"

"How to find one Ho Chen Fong," the man replied.

"Oh?" Steven said without commitment.

Reagan hid her smiled behind her hand. Clearly Steven Keane knew full well how to get a subject to cooperate. Even if they didn't agree about MacLeod… he knew how to play the game. Her only worry was what if she was wrong… and Steven would take the opportunity to kill MacLeod. If he did… she'd mourn Keane's death at her hands… but she'd still kill him before he'd even recovered.

The man paused and looked back at his boss. Then he continued. "My employer asks that you join him at his table. He will be pleased to give you what you seek."

"I'm quite comfortable here," Steven murmured.

Again the man paused and turned toward his employer. He shrugged and then bowed and returned to the other table where he sat quietly, his head bowed.

"I think somebody lost face," Reagan smirked.

"Likely. He was the first negotiator. Let's see what happens next." Three "negotiators" later from different tables, the first "employer" rose and joined the immortals at their table.

"You drive a hard bargain," he said haughtily.

"It's my place and I can do what the hell I want," Steven said without looking at him. "I do appreciate whatever you have to say and if it is something I can use, I will make my gratitude apparent."

"Understood," the man said. He leaned back in his chair and pressed his palms together before him. "Fong has been a most distracting thorn in my side. He has destroyed much of my… product."

"That's a shame," Reagan said with a touch of sarcasm. The crime lord shot her a dark glance. Evidently he was not accustomed to a woman speaking her mind around him.

Steven caught her gaze with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Forgive my companion for that interruption." He gestured Reagan to leave the table.

Her eyes widened in surprise and then she nodded and rose. "Don't mind me… call of nature." She pivoted sharply and strode seductively to the women's room, letting her hips sway suggestively back and forth. Once inside she leaned against the door and laughed for nearly a minute. Then she splashed some cold water onto her face, fluffed her hair and reapplied some lip-gloss. She smacked her lips and then turned to return to the club floor and breeze back to the table, now occupied only by a smirking Steven Keane.

"So? What happened?"

"It seems he had only today come into some information about this Fong. One of his snitches happened to recognize the man and had followed him home. He would dearly love to pay Fong back for troubling him, but as a matter of respect, he will give us tonight to conclude our business with him."

"How much did it cost you?"

Steven lowered his shaking head. "Too much. Damn! I'll be known as a push-over if I'm not careful."

Reagan reached out and clasped one of his hands. "I don't think you're a push-over… a bit of a soft touch perhaps… but no push-over."

He groaned as he met her twinkling and amused eyes.

-----

Kiem Sun hadn't been lying to MacLeod when he'd told him that getting him released into his custody would be difficult. Kiem Sun could only go so fast and push so hard with the authorities or his identity would be compromised and all would be lost. Sun rather liked this comfortable life he had here and didn't care to lose it.

At the heart of what he was trying to do were the words that had been written on his heart by the strange stone. _Do no harm!_ If he could manage that, the garden of delight that he saw in the distance could be his. _All life is sacred!_ Implied in the instructions were that to speak of what had been and what might be would be to destroy it. Kiem had seen on the dream plane twelve years ago, the near destruction of the world because immortals had broken those commandments. One of the keys to achieving the future he saw so clearly for one brief moment, had been Duncan MacLeod… the Highlander… the clan chief of their people as a new millennium dawned. For Duncan MacLeod to achieve this, he needed to be shown the stone and go on his own vision quest to the future. All Kiem could do was to set it before him and pray for the best. But Amanda's presence had somehow changed things. Now… the one clear thing that came out of his daily trips to **_People's Hospital_** was that Amanda and Duncan MacLeod were irretrievably linked. What that meant for the future he didn't know, but Kiem Sun still felt the only path before him was to get the two immortals out of the hospital.

As the days had passed, he'd grown inwardly frustrated. He needed help of some sort. Alone he could not manage a breakout and the proper method for getting them out might well take too long.

He stood before the mahogany mantel of his fireplace in contemplation. His arms crossed and one upraised. His chin rested thoughtfully in his upraised fingers. One finger tapped impatiently against his cheek. _If all that exists serves the end, where then may I look for assistance?_ he thought. He could smell the tea steeping invitingly in the teapot on the tray. The antique clock struck nine P.M. His eyes flickered toward it. He sensed an immortal. The glass face of the clock reflected someone moving in the shadows.

Kiem Sun immediately grabbed his stout staff leaning next to the mantel and whirled in defense. The staff thudded against a drawn but not threatening sword. He smiled and bowed. "Reagan Cole. I am honored you have come to my house."

Reagan lowered her sword with a smirk. "Kiem Sun you old monk. I thought this was the home of a Ho Chen Fong."

Kiem shrugged one shoulder with a small smile. "We all have many names."

By this time another immortal had climbed through the window. He looked from one to the other. "You know this guy?"

"We've met," Reagan said putting her sword away.

Kiem Sun relaxed his stance and placed the staff back against the mantel. "And to what do I owe the visit?" He gestured for them to sit. He turned and pulled two extra teacups from a tray on the sideboard and poured three cups of the hot green tea he so liked. He handed the others the cups and drank first to show that it was safe. "Not that I do not like visitors of our kind… even if they come through a window instead of knocking at my door."

Reagan blushed. "Sorry… as I said. We'd gotten information about this Fong from someone and we thought he was dangerous. We wanted to ask him about a friend before others arrived to kill him again."

Kiem Sun threw back his head and laughed. "Ahh… I suppose the drug lords have managed to pierce my secret identity and will follow you in later." He shrugged. "I do not fear them."

"Why do you antagonize them?" the immortal that introduced himself as Steven Keane said.

Kiem Sun shrugged as he set down his teacup. "In my life, I once tried to brew and formulate a drug that would help me control mortals so that they would protect me and fight for me. They died. Unfortunate side effect. I never intended that they die. In recent years, however, I have seen the drugs that others sell and push onto mortals and I felt the need to voice my objections. We who are immortal should protect the mortals."

"I wondered that you'd not killed anyone?" Reagan replied.

"All life is sacred," Kiem Sun said with a tip of his head… his eyes closing momentarily as if in a prayer.

"And if I'd come for your head?" Reagan asked.

"I'd have fought you and defended myself. If I lost… then I die with the knowledge I have. If I won… perhaps you would have awakened some place else." He winked at them both.

"You no longer _fear_ the gathering?" Reagan asked.

"I know what it is and what is to be. I can say no more. I welcome it. I hope to live to see it in person. If not… I will die content," he replied. He leaned forward to refill his delicate teacup and sat back to sip it. The others looked at him curiously. He swiftly changed the subject. "So… what might Ho Chen Fong do for you?"

"He was seen at an upscale hotel asking about a pair of us who were carted off to a mental ward," Reagan explained cryptically.

Kiem nodded. "MacLeod and the lovely Amanda. What is your interest in them?"

"Friendly," replied Reagan as she held her cup out for a refill. Keane snorted.

"They are not themselves. Using an alternate identity, I've visited them in the hospital and have been seeking a way to get them released into my custody."

"Passiondust," smirked Keane.

Kiem looked at him curiously. "Passiondust?"

"It's a lie I told to explain their behavior," Reagan said dismissively. "What happened to them?"

"In truth… I do not know. They were here. They sought something I had and I gave it to them. Perhaps it was more than they could handle… but it is not inherently evil."

"I don't understand," Reagan said sharply. "Explain!"

Kiem Sun sighed. Perhaps these two were the answer to his prayer. "Alas… I cannot until and unless you see for yourselves. MacLeod was seeking something. What I gave him allowed him to find whatever it was. Until I heard the news story, I'd assumed he and Amanda had left town. I had to discover what had happened before I could lay plans to rescue them. It is, however, most difficult."

"And now you have help," Reagan said thoughtfully.

Kiem Sun smiled enigmatically. "And now I have help." He sipped once more from his teacup as he regarded his guests.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Keane asked suspiciously.

"It means Mr. Keane, and my dear Reagan, that together, we might be able to accomplish what we cannot accomplish independently." He leaned forward and began to explain.

-----

Near dawn, the trio of immortals had reached a consensus on rescuing MacLeod and Amanda, and had the beginnings of a plan. Yet even as they put the finishing touches on a plan that utilized the strength of each of them, whisperings of an unauthorized approach were heard.

"Leave now," Kiem Sun said as he rose to grab his staff. "It is me they have come for and I will delay them."

"And if they kill you?" Reagan replied. "Can't risk it."

Kiem Sun stared at her. "It is not permanent. I will not allow anyone to be killed in my house… even those mortals who come for me."

Reagan shook her head as she pulled a tranq-gun from her waist and began loading it. "You don't get it. From what "Uncle" Woo said last night… I gather his plans are to dismember you."

"Oh," replied Kiem. Then he shrugged. "Most unfortunate. However, my death is not important."

"Look at it this way," Reagan insisted. "We lose you and we lose the chance to spring MacLeod. Which is more important?"

Kiem Sun regarded Reagan Cole thoughtfully. She spoke the truth. MacLeod was necessary for the end result he had seen in his vision. Even if he, Kiem, were not, he was needed to now to make certain it happened. MacLeod must be free to achieve the leadership of their people in the final days. "Perhaps you are right," he finally nodded.

A masked mortal crashed through a window while another one crawled through the open one. Reagan turned and fired the tranq-gun.

-----


	41. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**Niebos, later the same day:**

Despite wandering over the island, Sarah Manning had not found Adam Pierson. She had located the immortal trio of bikers camped near a spring. She'd stayed out of range and watched them cavort naked in the water with one another. They had no weapons on them that she could see… but then… neither did she. Once again she marked the information as she'd marked that of Grace's lipstick on Greg Powers mouth and smirked as she withdrew.

"Your time is coming. Soon as I manage to get hold of a sword," she chuckled as she left. Oh yes… those three had to die.

As she noticed the lengthening shadows, she paused in her wanderings to consider how best to get a sword. She knew that Phillip had them locked in a safe. Who knew the combination besides him? Sarah shook her head. Likely only Eleanor and Adam, and she doubted she could convince either of them.

"What about on that ship?" she mused. Snapping her fingers, she headed towards town.

It was nearly dark when she arrived at the outskirts. The lights of some of the rebuilt houses and music drifting from a refurbished _cantina_ made her smile. They would all be hers for the taking soon enough. She visualized the killing spree she could go on as soon as she got a sword. Those men and women on the boat would be like putty in her hands.

When she reached the dock though, she didn't see the familiar outline of the yacht. She peered out into the darkened harbor, trying to see if there were running lights on something. She saw only darkness.

With a growl she stamped her feet. A passing villager asked her if there was a problem. She grabbed him by the neck and squeezed until she heard the bones snap. It didn't solve her problem… but it helped her to think. She couldn't leave the body here… but she knew where she could. With a grunt, she hoisted it to her shoulder and made her way out of town through the shadows. As she carried him away, she also realized how hungry she was.

-----

Brushing her long brown hair, Katherine Sutherland stared morosely into the mirror at her reflection. She ached from missing Nick. He was too soon gone and the coma she'd been in had not given her the time to deal with it. Her dreams in the coma had recognized that he was likely dead… but nothing had seemed real. The clearest of her memories involved the boy Kenneth and a well they were both in. Kenny had vanished at some point… but she had remained trapped and confused… watching clouds zip by on the overhead sky as night followed day and returned again.

She slammed the brush down and closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands. She needed to move on and she knew it. She'd thrown herself into healing others again as the way to find peace. But it wasn't working. She was alone in the midst of the other immortals and would remain so until she learned to reach out. But did she dare?

The game and "there can be only one" had been a part of her for nearly three thousand years. Could she willingly drop her defenses and reach out to another immortal… let him into her life? And if so… who?

Hope also intrigued her. She understood that Hope was Grace's daughter, but the secret of how that could be had not been shared with her. She'd wondered if it were possible with a mortal… but no one knew. Could she leave here, find a mortal and try again? Katherine shook her head. Mortals and immortals had been trying for millennia to have children. No… the answer lay here.

Maybe she needed to reclaim her more recent past as a bounty hunter. Katherine shook her head with a chuckle. No… that reminded her too much of Nick and she desperately wanted to move on.

Her answers lay on this island… of that she was certain. So here she would remain.

A knock on the door made her wipe her eyes before turning and calling out to ask who it was.

Eleanor peeked around the door. "You didn't come down for dinner… thought I'd check on you. Are you doing all right?"

"I'm fine," Katherine said with a wave of her hand. Then she frowned. "And I'm not fine. I need to talk to someone."

Eleanor looked behind her at some noise in the hall and then entered, shutting the door behind her. "Things are in a bit of an uproar right now. Phillip is on the far side of the island, J.D.'s in bed, Adam's gone, and the children are a handful. Still… I can spare a few minutes… what's up?"

"The children. J.D. and Marianna… are they like Hope?"

Eleanor took a deep breath, held it and then slowly nodded.

"How?"

"I can't tell you that right now, Katherine. It's something that involves all of us who know. I have to talk to them first." She shrugged with a small smile.

"But it _is_ possible for any of us?" Katherine said as she scratched her forehead.

"I think so. _We_ think so. But it's something we have to be very careful about making public to other immortals. It's not that we want to keep it from them… it's more in knowing how it could change everything and what the dangers are. We'd rather take our time and see what happens before just putting the information out there for anyone. There are concerns that it could be misused."

Katherine nodded. "I can appreciate that… but I really want this."

Eleanor grinned. "You have someone in mind?"

"Someone in mind?" Katherine looked at her sharply and then laughed as she shook her head. "No… I just…" Her voice drifted away a moment. Her eyes glazed over and then she sighed. "It's just something I'd always wanted and had long ago accepted that it was not to be. I wake up and suddenly it _is_ possible. I'm curious."

"Curiosity is fine. Just don't mention Hope's status… or that of the others to anyone else. Grace, John, Greg, Phillip, Adam and I are the only ones who know."

"Too bad one of them isn't available," Katherine smirked.

"Greg might be," Eleanor teased.

Katherine shook her head blushing. "I don't think so. I think he only has eyes for Grace."

Eleanor said nothing. Perhaps the thought had occurred to her as well.

"I told Madame Kostas to leave a covered dish for you in the kitchen. It's there if you get hungry." She rose as it suddenly sounded like a herd of buffalo in the hallway. Katherine could feel three immortals running past. Eleanor stared at the door. "I think that's my cue to see what's happening. Between small immortals who sometimes act like children… and children… I have my hands full right now. We'll talk again soon." Eleanor squeezed Katherine's arm with a wink and then turned to fling open the door.

As she pulled it shut she could hear Eleanor say, "Did someone suddenly announce an indoor track meet that I didn't know about?"

-----

By the time Sarah Manning returned to the villa, it was nearly dark and as silent as the grave. She could still see a few nightlights or small lamps burning here and there, but no one seemed to be up. She stood in the dark foyer and closed her eyes, trying to get a feel for where the others were.

While she couldn't tell who was who, she did get a feel for how they were clumped together. The rooms at the far left of the hall normally held the children. She could sense the cluster of them there… furthest in so that they were safest from an intruder.

Then Adam's room… two were there, maybe J.D. and his mother. Across the hall from there and at the head of the stairs were Grace and John's room and then Greg's. The upper right corridor where her room was gave off nothing. Not only her room, but also Phillip's and Katherine's were vacant. She felt someone on the main floor… _Kitchen,_ she thought. She grinned. _Found you!_ she trumpeted mentally, and headed toward the kitchen. She flung open the swinging door with a wide grin, and then paused. Adam Pierson wasn't the one sitting there; neither was Phillip.

Katherine Sutherland looked up at her. "Oh… hi. Listen there's a plate of food for you as well," she said.

"Thanks but I've eaten. Couldn't manage another bite right now," Sarah said, letting the door swing closed behind her. "Where is everyone?"

Katherine shrugged as she ate, "In bed… why?"

"Doesn't feel like everyone is here."

"Well Phillip is still staying on the far side of the island for a few days. I think he needed a breather from all of us. Adam left with the others who came with Derrick on the boat."

"Oh? Adam left?" Sarah said as she moved to take a seat on the other stool. He fingers brushed across the tabletop as she recalled ing Greg there last night. She nearly smirked, wondering if it had even been cleaned.

"Yeah… something going on about what happened to Derrick's plane. I didn't get the whole story."

_Adam gone? Eleanor alone with the kids? Phillip unavailable?_ Sarah began to grin. As she did so she ran her tongue over her teeth. _Things look better and better!_

Sarah leaned forward on her elbows and stared at Katherine. If only she had a sword handy.

-----

Sarah chatted with Katherine a bit; mainly she let Katherine talk and just listened with a sympathetic expression. She figured she would learn more that way as Katherine didn't seem to actively dislike her like that bitch Eleanor. They climbed the stairs together after Katherine finished eating, and went to their separate rooms.

Sarah stripped and showered… the hottest water she could stand. Red and glowing she stepped from the shower dripping water and grabbed a towel to dry off. She wrapped it around her and stepped to the sink. Vigorously she brushed her teeth and took a swig of mouthwash. Then she turned out the lights and stepped to the door. She opened it a crack and stared down the dark hallway, trying to feel where everyone was again. Greg was apparently alone.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Sarah closed the door behind her and strutted to Greg's room. Slowly she opened the door. In the small rectangle of light she could see him sprawled on the bed. She entered, shut the door, dropped her towel and climbed into the bed, prowling on her hands and knees and cackling a bit to herself as she rubbed against him and settled in beside him. She leaned over and nipped his ear.

Greg's head shot up in the darkness!

"Oh… Sarah… you startled me. Where have you been all day?" He rolled to pull her to him.

"Oh walking and thinking. You were taking care of Hope earlier and I didn't want to bother you. You left me earlier with a lot to think about," she said smoothly, the lie sounding so perfect. She wriggled next to him and felt him respond. She touched his lips with hers and then deftly inserted her tongue lightly.

Greg sat partway up and pulled her closer, responding to her kiss with one of his.

Sarah managed not to laugh and to play the part of lover as she moved her mouth over his exposed skin hungrily. She bit him playfully, delighted when he groaned and returned the gesture. She relished the blood she tasted. Before long, their exploits of the previous night were tame compared to the ones that filled this night.

-----

Dawn beckoned and they were still entangled with one another. Both were sweaty and exhausted.

Sarah licked bloody streaks and sweat from Greg's chest and sighed with a twisted grin on her face.

Greg ran his fingers through her hair and turned her head so that her suddenly innocent gaze met his. "So what are we doing here?"

"We are finding comfort in one another," Sarah replied. "You love Grace. I love Adam. Surely there is a way for both of us to be happy."

"Mmmmm," he said and kissed her.

Sarah pulled back with a laugh and then pushed him to the bed. She straddled his chest and continued her playful antics.

"You drive me crazy!" Greg groaned.

"That's the general idea," Sarah laughed. She let her hair dangle on his chest and shook it. Then she shifted her position and began to ride him. "Think of doing this forever," she said in a silky voice. "Think of an eternity of this as opposed to living alone. All I ask of you… is one little, tiny favor."

Greg seized her hips in his hands as he bucked beneath her. "Anything! Name it!" He climaxed and then shuddered in exhaustion.

Sarah moved so that she lay over him, covering him with her body and hair. "Eleanor hates me and will seek to kill me now that Adam and Phillip are away. I need protection."

"Mmmmm," he replied sleepily as she whispered in his ear.

"Protect me from her vendetta."

"Mmmmm."

"Protect me my lovely, lovely man, and you will have your heart's desire. I will give you Grace. Verily I will make it so that she comes to you and only you. She shall spread her legs like a whore and be yours."

Greg wrapped his arms around her and turned so that she was lying curled next to him. He was asleep by this time. Sarah continued to whisper lies into his ear until she finally extricated herself from his embrace rose and returned to her room before anyone saw her. Everything was moving along perfectly… perhaps sooner rather than later she would return to the cove. Already the hissing voice was calling her and despite just having come from another man's bed… there was something far more satisfying in the depths of the cove.

-----

**Hong Kong:**

Two fast, successive tranq shots later, three intruders lay sprawled on the Oriental carpet of Kiem Sun's parlor.

Sun chuckled. "Nicely done."

Reagan shrugged. "I'm a professional."

Steven nudged one with a foot. "So were they, I dare say." He looked up at Reagan. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Reagan stored the gun in the holster at the back of her belt with a grin. "A lady never tells. Now let's get going. We have friends to rescue."

Steven Keane snorted at that, nevertheless, he gestured for Sun to lead the way.

Sun led them to a garage, which contained a black 1937 **_Bentley_**. "I have a fondness for old and well-built automobiles," Sun said with an appreciative smile; he lightly ran a hand along one fender. The three immortals crammed into the two passenger front seat as Sun hit the garage door opener and turned on the ignition. The doors swung open and he ginned more widely as the sound of the powerful engine filled the small stable turned garage. He then told the others, "Hang on… I have to lose whoever else might be out there."

He shifted gears and hit the accelerator. The car zoomed from the garage and then careened wildly along the narrow twisting streets of Hong Kong as he sped through the pre-dawn light. "I have other cars in other locations. We'll switch off once I'm certain we are not being followed." He sighed audibly. "I suppose I shall have to move again. I really did like that house."

"Better to move than to die," Reagan replied quizzically. She was squashed a bit between the two men. Their weapons added to the feeling of discomfort any time one of them tried to move.

"Good thing you have a bigger car," Steven grunted. "I don't know where we'd put MacLeod and Amanda in this one."

"Did I say I had a bigger car?" Sun grinned.

Keane stared at him while Reagan shook her head with a laugh. It was going to be a most interesting day.

-----


	42. Chapter Forty

**Chapter Forty**

**Somewhere in the Desert:**

The Egyptian's howl spurred Derrick to regain his feet quickly. He'd played the side wound long enough. It was time to go on the defensive. Methos and Masahiro had both taught him to watch and learn an opponent's strategy before betraying his own. That moment had come.

Lifting one hand from his sliced Achilles tendon, the Egyptian snarled and for a moment looked truly dangerous. But the wound was enough to keep him from immediately lunging forward while Derrick set himself, bending over slightly and shifting from side to side. He knew he couldn't wait. The wound would heal too quickly.

With a sudden turn and kick, he sent the brazier flying toward his opponent. The red hot coals showered sparks as they flew into the air and landed against the Egyptian's bare chest and face. He dropped his sword and howled once more as the coals sizzled against his skin. His hands rose to his face.

Derrick followed the kick with a lunge forward so that Cassandra's broadsword rammed into the Egyptian's chest. As he dropped his hands, the immortal's eyes met Derrick's and his mouth betrayed his confusion and then acceptance. He dropped to his knees, wavering slightly. Derrick withdrew the sword.

"Make it clean," the Egyptian uttered softly.

Derrick lifted the broadsword and panted heavily as he moved behind his opponent. Outside the tent he could hear men moving around. Guns continued to go off. The escape had apparently been discovered. He could even hear a man asking for permission to enter. Thoughts of what would happen if a quickening went off here and now gave Derrick pause.

Instead of slicing, he rammed the broadsword into the Egyptian's back and turned to shift it. Blood spurted everywhere as he burst his opponent's heart. "Another time," he said. With a look of surprise, the Egyptian fell dead. Derrick wondered how long he'd stay dead. He wondered how soon the body would be discovered. He knew he needed time to escape. He had no illusions about what would happen to him if he were discovered and captured.

Swiftly he strapped the Great Sword to his back and rolled his companions' four swords into a small Persian rug. He tied off the bulky package with some tent rope and slung it over his other shoulder. Then, grabbing a desert robe and headdress, he pulled those over, snatched up a nearly filled water-skin and wrapped some food into a cloth which he stowed in his shirt. The Egyptian was twitching now. Derrick rummaged about the tent, coming up with another scimitar and some knives, one of which he rammed into his belt.

Kneeling next to his opponent's body, Derrick rammed four of the knives into his arms and legs, staking him to the sand. He didn't know if the man could re-awaken and pull them out. He didn't know if the Egyptian could awaken from death with a mortal wound still open. Resolutely he rose and rammed the scimitar into the Egyptian's chest. With a worried look toward the front flap of the tent, Derrick backed up to slice open the rear of it, looked through it into the pre-dawn light and then made his escape in the opposite direction that the others had gone. He'd have to circle around to join them once he had time to cover his tracks. Right now, the main thing was to "get the hell out of Dodge" as the saying went. He scurried into the darkness and vanished into the desert, all the while wondering if he had seen the last of the Egyptian.

-----

**Hong Kong:**

The early morning regular routine of the mental ward was shattered when Duncan observed one of the patients, suddenly rise and attack the screens on the windows, screaming about spiders.

Sitting restrained in his wheel chair as he watched the orderlies scramble to restrain the man, he noticed that one man's electronic key was ripped off of his belt in the struggle and kicked under a nearby table. Duncan waited until the orderlies had the man on the ground and a nurse was administering a shot before slowing wheeling toward the keycard. He stopped and managed to put one foot on top of it so that it wouldn't be easily seen when the orderly noticed it was missing.

Once the patient was calmer, he was taken back to his room. Duncan lifted his foot slightly as he eyed the card on the floor. He'd need help getting it up. Again he pulled at the arm restraints.

_Idea!_ sent Amanda from the far side of the ward. Only in recent days had they both been allowed here at the same time. They made certain to outwardly show no interest in the other while being observed.

_What?_ he sent back.

She laughed merrily as she slowly left the table where she was playing cards with a number of others and wheeled in his direction. Her arms moved more freely than his handcuffed ones could. But then she'd never tried to fight the orderlies and nurses. He glanced up at her, and when she was closing in on his position, he turned and slowly moved away, his attention apparently elsewhere.

_Got it!_ she sent with a triumphant emphasis and mental laughter. He just hoped no one had seen her retrieve it.

_Give me credit!_ she hmmphed at him sarcastically.

Duncan snorted and then began to figure out a way and a time to use the key card to make good their escape. It would have to be soon. No doubt the combination would be changed as soon as the orderly noticed his card was missing. With luck, he might not notice for a while. On the other hand, the dayshift was just beginning and there were too many people about right now to effectively mount an escape. _One step forward and one step back_, Duncan muttered to himself. Nothing was ever easy.

And then… Kiem Sun arrived, a few hours early for his daily visit. With him was Steven Keane. Both Duncan and Amanda met one another's gaze and nodded. Kiem had help… and maybe this was it. Duncan glanced about the ward. Most of the orderlies were still with the patient. Slowly he eased toward the locked door, sensing Amanda following him. He wanted to be close to the door when they entered… especially if they were here to break them out.

-----

Keane glanced into the ward as sun presented some official looking transfer papers for "his" two patients. "My private facility now that they are calmer," he was saying smoothly. My orderly is here to help make the transfer. He nodded towards Keane in explanation.

When the charge nurse gave him a curious once-over he shrugged and then turned to watch the others. MacLeod and Amanda… looking gorgeous as ever were slowly moving toward the locked security entrance.

Reagan was even now attempting a rather daring burglary of the safe room to gather their personal effects. If successful, she'd start setting off sprinklers and alarms in other parts of the building as a distraction. Steven worried that the entire building would go on lockdown and that their attempt to get them out of here would be useless. The transfer papers, while looking official, were clearly not. Any of the medical personnel given too much time to peruse them would note that.

He felt naked without his sword. The blades and other modern weapons would not pass through the advanced security screening of the hospital, Sun had explained. He'd held out bamboo _bokkens_ with a wide grin when they'd reached the third vehicle transfer. Reagan had twirled hers, hefting it expertly and going through an elaborate set of moves. Steven had stared at his.

"Let me guess," Sun had remarked. "You've never used one. Trust me… against surprised immortals they are most effective. Besides, if we're searched, they are an effective means of subduing a patient if necessary."

Steven had _whacked_ it against a pole, surprised at the loud sound it made. "I've heard that prisoners used to be beaten with bamboo, but I'd never thought to actually use that technique myself."

"They will work. Just keep it under your coat where you normally hide your sword. With any luck, no one will notice," Kiem had instructed.

Their swords were hidden in the van parked downstairs. Steven crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look unconcerned as Sun dealt with the charge nurse. His eyes moved over the room, noticing the security system and monitors. He hoped Reagan would have time to knock that system out before too many records of their presence here were made. He really didn't want to have to sell his club and be dead in China for a lifetime or two. _Chalk up another one to MacLeod_, Steven snorted to himself. If it weren't for Reagan… he'd leave MacLeod here. Likely he deserved it.

-----

Reagan had found the lock-up where patient belongings were kept. She ran her eyes over the antique steel grating and stepped to the barred window. She adjusted her dark glasses and smoothed the dark hair of her wig.

"Excuse me, my cousin was brought here and his wife wanted me to retrieve his belongings," she said, accompanied by her most dazzling smile.

The bored attendant looked up from his magazine with a look of curiosity. He shrugged and said something in Mandarin. Reagan got most of it. "Ah… yes," she tittered and asked again in a halting manner in the same language. She sighed and shrugged as he continued to stare at her. Then he went back to his magazine… porn from what Reagan could tell by the shots of scantily clad women on the cover.

She rattled the cage somewhat. "Please… I need some help. I have an authorization." She said the last in English as she waved a folded sheet of paper about.

With a snort, the man rose, tucking his magazine in his rear pocket as he reached for her paperwork. Reagan slipped it beneath the bars. He lifted it and turned it over. The paper was blank. He looked up in time to see Reagan smile before blowing something at his face through a tube. He felt a prick in his neck and groggily slipped to the floor. Reagan then went to work with lock pick she'd brought in disguised as a finger nail file. _Thank you Amanda_, she laughed as she worked on the lock. Hearing the tumblers click, she swung the cage door open and stepped over the now sleeping mortal.

Swiftly she found the two plastic crates that contained the possessions of MacLeod and Amanda under the aliases that sun had given her. He'd told her to only take their swords, paperwork, a small ebony box with a piece of quartz, tools, and other weapons.

"Quartz?" she'd asked him

He'd shrugged. "It was important to MacLeod."

Once she'd gathered anything what was important, she opened a duffle bag she'd had over her shoulder and placed what she needed inside of it. Then she zipped it up and stared around her. She sealed the containers again and set them back on the shelves. Blowing a kiss to the unconscious mortal, she locked the cage, pocketed the lock-pick and strolled out of the small room as if she'd had every right to be there. Phase One was easily completed.

The next thing was to create a minor disturbance and she had just the idea.

Reagan breezed out the door and tossed the bag into the van. She pulled off the wig and changed her jacket, and then climbed out again. She ran a hand through her blonde hair, adjusted her glasses and headed back inside. This time she strolled up and down the corridors as if looking for something. Along the way, she began pulling fire alarms.

She wondered if Sun and Steven had managed to get into the ward yet.

-----

The charge nurse was busy looking over Sun's paperwork when the alarm sounded. She glanced up and looked around, muttering, "What? There were no drills scheduled for today!" she laid the paperwork down and rose, fingering her keycard. "Damn and we're short-handed today."

She exited the booth as did several other nurses who had been working on charts or measuring out pain meds. The orderlies who'd wrestled the patient to the floor a short time ago, emerged from his room with startled looks on their faces.

"If we can be of assistance," Sun said with a smile.

"Yes… we have to get them down the stairs… the elevators are locked down. Some of the patients require being restrained at all times," the charge nurse said. "Your help, doctor, is most appreciated."

Sun and Keane tried not to look too eager of too pleased as they entered the open security passageway and began helping to gather the freed patients into a group.

Duncan rubbed his wrists as he stood up and moved closer to Sun, ready for whatever the man wanted next. He'd noticed the way that both Sun's and Keane's coats moved. They were carrying weapons. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

Amanda took his arm and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "I still have the keycard."

For a moment, the reality of actually touching her again overwhelmed him. Furiously he pushed those feelings down. "Escape is paramount," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to hug her closely to him with one arm. "Stay close," he whispered.

"Absolutely, and look, doesn't Steven look dashing?"

MacLeod snorted as they were waved through the security passage and then out into the corridor. He noted that both Sun and Keane give him a head gesture to drop out of the group. Glancing behind him to check and see if the medical personnel were watching… Duncan clutched Amanda's arm and pushed her swiftly into a side passage. He clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Hey," she whispered as she forced the hand down. Alone with her pulled close to him, Duncan felt like kissing her. Already his need for her was rising again. _I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!_ he roared to himself. He would not lose who and what he was again. He was in control… nothing controlled him. Slowly the immediate need for her lessened. Still… he leaned down to kiss her, relishing the taste of her. He could do this forever. He pulled back with a smile.

"Always," she murmured as she nestled closer.

Duncan nodded. The reality of what they'd done despite their better instincts became reality now in the clear light of day. At least they hadn't tried to kill one another.

_At least_, came Amanda's silent response. She laughed merrily and Duncan smiled. Maybe the enforced separation had been good for them… or maybe they'd already known each other's interests and secrets so well that so far… there had been no surprises.

Duncan's head jerked up as the last of the crowd of patients, the hospital personnel close to them and keeping them in line, moved past their position. The sounds of voices gradually lessened as they entered the stair well. Then the fire door closed on them. A few moments later, they sense Sun and Keane returning for them.

"Down the other stairway," Sun directed as the four immortals made a dash for a stairway further down the corridor. It was filling with other medical personnel and patients from lower floors; at least they didn't seem to give the quartet of immortals more than a cursory glance. Again, they held back a bit, letting the others get down the stairs before them.

It wasn't enough, however, one doctor glanced up at them quizzically and then called out. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be using the other stairwell."

"It was full and these two needed special assistance." sun called out cheerily.

By this time, Duncan was nearly level with the man. "Yeah… we don't do well confined," he quipped and cold cocked the doctor with one well-placed hit. He caught his as he slumped and settled him against the wall as the others continued down. "Good night sweet prince," he smirked, thinking of Shakespeare's **Hamlet**. He rummaged through the doctor's pockets, coming up with a keycard and a set of car keys. He pocketed them both in his robe and took the time to retie it snugly about his waist as he descended the stairs. He doubted he needed either, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

By the time they reached the main floor, security guards were present and directing patients out of the facility. Keane held the immortals in the stairwell a moment. "Damn. Anyone got any ideas?"

"Back up one floor," Duncan said. Swiftly they returned to the floor above, using the doctor's keycard to enter that floor. "Now what?" Duncan asked as he looked around the deserted floor. They seemed to be alone on a floor that was mainly offices.

"Clothes," Amanda replied. She grabbed Duncan's arm and pointed at a coat rack with coats still hanging on it. "We cover up who we are and maybe we can get by the guards on the main floor." Swiftly the four immortals began to search through offices and desk drawers for enough apparel and accessories to make the two inmates look like official personnel.

"Let's try the first stairwell again," Sun suggested as he nodded his approval of the coats and glasses. Once more he glanced at the security cameras.

-----

When most of the security guards raced to their positions as the various fire alarms went off, Reagan zeroed in on the main security station. She reached out and grabbed the door before it closed behind the last man and let herself in. Already she had the blow dart ready.

"Hey! You can't be in here," the man behind the desk said in Mandarin. She knocked him out with the dart and then reached over the console to begin snapping off cameras. She found the case where the recorders were and grabbed the discs in there out of the machines to pocket and destroy. She glanced around, wondering if she'd forgotten anything. Satisfied that she'd done all she could, she slipped out of the security office and into pandemonium as mental patients and their handlers streamed about the lobby, lost and confused.

She grabbed one by the arm to calm him and to use as cover as she exited the building. Once out, she released him, climbed into the van and started it up. She kept glancing in the rear view mirror looking for her companions. They had a very small window to make this escape before security checked the building and began allowing the others back in.

Reagan glanced at the milling crowd on the green commons across from the ambulance bay and gripped the steering wheel. She wanted out of here long before they began streaming back in. They'd be too noticed if they tried to get out then. Nervously she tapped her fingers and glanced into the rear view mirror. "Where are you guys?"

-----

"I suggest we split up," Sun said. "MacLeod with me and Amanda with Keane."

"Why that way?" Duncan asked.

"Because we know where the van is. Do you?" Sun said with a grin. "Hopefully Reagan has managed to knockout the recording system and is even now waiting impatiently for us in the van."

"Then let's make like the shepherd," Amanda grinned.

The other three looked at her curiously. She sighed. "Sometimes I don't think you men ever listen to pop culture. It means… let's get the flock out of here."

Sun laughed while Keane and MacLeod shook their heads with a pained groan. Amanda took Keane's arm. "I also have a keycard if we need it," she said coyly as the two of them made their way to the other end of the hallway and out into the now empty stairwell.

Duncan watched them go nervously. _Be careful!_ he sent to Amanda. He had the distinct impression she'd blown him a kiss and even felt a soft tingle on his cheek. He rubbed it absently. "We need to get our weapons and… and the crystal," he told Sun.

"Reagan has already managed that, I believe," Sun told him as they headed back to the stairwell and down the stairs. The passed several guards on their way up to floor-by floor check for smoke, fire and anything unusual. They barely gave the white-coated men a second glance, evidently thinking they were doctors or lab techs moving more slowly now that the patients were out of the building.

On the main floor, they pushed open the stairwell door, noticing that the guards on this floor were talking with Keane and Amanda. Swiftly Duncan and Sun began to head for the exit while the guards weren't looking.

Amanda, wearing a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses was putting her flawless mandarin to work. "Well when you're in the middle of an experiment that might mean the difference between a cure for the common cold and a boiled mess of nothing… you take the time to turn off the burners."

Duncan grinned. If anyone could talk her way out of a sticky situation, it was Amanda. He followed Sun out the door and around to the right of the building where he saw a van with its motor running. They climbed in.

"This is getting to be a habit MacLeod," Reagan laughed from the front seat.

"But a pleasant one. How did Sun know to contact you?"

Reagan shook her head. "Wasn't Sun… it was Vrej. We just met up with Sun in the process of figuring out what was going on."

Duncan shot Sun a glance. "How much did you tell her?"

"Only the truth. And only what was necessary."

"Where's the crystal?" Duncan asked Reagan sharply.

"In that bag, I guess. Fist size quartz in a small box?"

Hurriedly Duncan rummaged for it to the sound of Kim's sad sigh. He withdrew it from the duffle and unclasped the lid, dropping the crystal into his palm. Once more it showed him a newborn baby crying alone in an overgrown and dangerous wilderness. Duncan closed his eyes and prayed he was not too late.

The rear doors opened once more as Amanda and Keane climbed in. "Miss me?" she said to Duncan and kissed him as she got settled next to him. "And oh look… my pearl!" she crooned and held onto him, her eyes fastened on it's milky iridescence. His mind slid around hers as together they focused on each other's greatest desire.

"Hang on," Reagan said and shifted gears as she slowly pulled the delivery van out of the bay. She could hear Steven mumbling something about, "What pearl?" Reagan focused on the road. They'd change vehicles and hopefully would be in the clear. Of course they still had to get MacLeod and Amanda out of the country.

-----


	43. Entr'Acte Two

**_Entr'acte Two_**

_**Battle of Hastings, 1066 C.E.:**_

Timothy of Gilliam arose immortal from the battlefield one again. He found and sheathed his sword in the scabbard girded over his monk's robes and stared about him at the carnage and aftermath of the battle. The Normans had come, and with their cavalry and discipline had destroyed the best that the Anglo-Saxon King Harold could throw at them.

The sky was smeared with drifts of smoke where bodies had been heaped for burning. And bodies were all about him. Cavalry had easily broken their ranks and had destroyed all the Anglish plans to cast the invaders back into the sea. Not even Timothy's Teutonic knights, hired by Harold to strengthen his forces, had held out against Guilliamme's French Normans. The Germanic satellite kingdom of Angleland was no more. Its king was dead and its army slaughtered. Its surviving _carls_ and _thanes_ were likely scattered on the wind.

In the distance, Timothy could hear the panicked screams of injured horses as they tried to rise and the wailing of women who drifted lost and alone across the battlefield. He had no wife any longer to mourn his passing and no keep or lands. Strange events in the past fifty-odd years had repeatedly robbed him of lover and wealth… if not of name and courage.

Timothy had walked the Earth for over six hundred years. He was immortal… but he was not omnipotent or omniscient. Timothy was just a man who had dedicated his life to living the best life he could, and trying to use his immortality for the betterment of others. He had courageously met all those other immortals that had challenged him and in his six hundred years had achieved a name amongst his kind… as well among mortals… for his honor, his fairness… and his integrity. He fought over and over on the side of the just… even if… as now… that battle was lost.

His last three wives had all died violently though… the last by his own hand. He'd slain her while in the throes of some fit where he'd seen her writhing in pleasure against an otherwise passageway in his castle with the household butcher. Others told him later that the lady of Gilliam had been innocent… but he'd seen her… he had been certain of it… and she had seen him and laughed at him as she'd grunted and moved with the butcher's thrusts. So he'd killed them both.

He'd also slain his last student, Theodric of Wittenberg not long before coming at Harold's call. The lad had been new to the game… but Timothy in some confusion had suddenly slain him… not believing it was truly Theodric standing there and making fun of him… laughing at him. Timothy had hoped that in the heat of righteous battle, his mind would clear.

But the line had broken and Harold, struck in the eye by a Norman arrow, had fallen. Timothy had tried to bear the body of his king from the field of battle when he and the others had been overwhelmed. Death was almost a welcome release… though death in battle might also mean permanent death if the mortals began rending their opponents' bodies. His last sight as he'd fallen was that of Harold being hacked to pieces by the Normans. Even now… that vision troubled him. Was it real… or was it more of the heavy troubles of his fevered mind.

Nearby a monk sighed. Timothy crossed himself. He had not realized that someone was there. The monk turned… wearing Theodric's face. "And again my teacher… your actions lead to destruction," the false Theodric said.

Timothy stumbled away from him… covering his eyes. "Noooooo!" he wailed. He stumbled for some moments over the battlefield, seeing the horror in dead men's faces. Some of the eyes blinked in those dead faces and the sounds of wailing grew as those eyes accused him. "Demons!" Timothy howled, wishing he dared pluck out his own eyes. "Demons be gone!" Around him the wailing turned to raucous laughter. Faster he stumbled over the field of carnage, horrified even more as each dead face saw him and raised a ghostly cry of accusation.

He fell face first into a muddy pool of water. Turning his head, he wept and continued to shriek.

"Please sir," a small voice whispered from nearby. You'll bring the bloody bastards down on us again." A young hand, attached to a muddy-faced Saxon boy of about fourteen, touched Timothy. "I don't know where to go. What do we do? Our king is dead!"

Timothy swallowed his sobs and nodded. "We run. We hide. The demons are all around us." He shuddered in his terror.

The boy looked about at the field. "Aye… demons true enough to do such to them that only tried to defend their homes."

Timothy rose and settled back on his knees. The dead were once more the dead. The wind no longer brought their unearthly voices to him. The fit had passed. He crossed himself again and gave thanks to God for his deliverance. "Come boy… we must get off the killing field if we are to survive."

The boy actually helped him to his feet and then took his hand. "My name is Aelfdane," he said with a worried look. My father was injured before the king called us to battle. I came in his stead."

"And you have survived. You must be quite the fighter," Timothy replied, wondering what it was like to actually have children.

"I was with the kitchen staff actually. We were being slaughtered. I hid." The boy blushed. "I was frightened."

"Fear in battle is what keeps warriors sharp," Timothy explained as the two headed for a nearby stand of trees. "Only the very foolish never feel fear."

The boy gave no reply, but both of his hands clasped Timothy's one hand as he led the warrior monk to safety.

Within the copse of trees, even the air smelled sweeter. For a moment, it was possible to forget that only a few feet away lay the mangled bodies of the dead. Throughout his life, Timothy had believed in the warrior society of his home in Jutland and had subscribed to the death before dishonor mentality of the Germanic people. Death in battle… fighting for what was right… was more to be desired than long life. Yet death had always eluded him. Long life was what God had granted. But for what purpose?

A keen again sounded on the wind. Timothy winced and rubbed his temples with his hands. The boy stared up at him with concern. "Are ya all right sir?"

Timothy shook his head to clear it of the voices whispering on the wind. He would not listen to them. He would focus on getting this lad to safety. The whispers became a low drone like the buzzing of bees. He took a deep breath and glanced around at the trees. In the center of the copse was a boulder covered with ancient carvings peeking through the moss. Timothy rested a hand on the stone to steady himself and to center himself on this place and time.

With a great shout the voices began again in a language he didn't know… but that he somehow understood. It spoke of death and a great slaughter. The voices wept for the loss of innocence. Amongst the trees, a cold white mist began to rise. Timothy shuddered. He closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth. "Demons be gone!" he shouted.

Still he heard them… nearly felt them… as they moved about him… screaming their indignation that death had taken them. Behind their voices was the beat of drums… or was it only his own heart. He thrust his hands at the mist. "No! Go away!"

Beside him the shape of Aelfdane closed in. The boy touched his hand. "Sir?"

Timothy turned to ask if he heard anything. The boy's eyes glowed red in the mist.

"Arrgghh!" the Teutonic warrior cried as he stepped back.

"What's the matter Timothy? Don't you want this child?" a lower, huskier voice laughed. "I can give him to you. He will bend over and do whatever you wish."

"No!" Timothy shouted and turned to hide his eyes.

"Would you rather have me," a familiar feminine voice said.

Timothy didn't want to look… but he did. There stood his beloved Greta… full of figure and with flowing red hair. She lifted her hands to him. "I forgive you," she said.

"Worship me," Theodric's voice whispered in his ear. "Do my bidding and I can give her back to you. Death has no dominion in my kingdom."

Timothy shrieked and drew his sword, swinging it about in a vain attempt to banish the demons. They laughed. There were more of them now, wearing the faces of immortals he'd killed, wives he'd buried, and kings he'd served. They pointed at him and closed in around him. With a great effort, Timothy swung levelly, feeling nothing until his sword caught in the now bleeding form of Aelfdane.

"Sir?" the boy mumbled as blood burbled out of his mouth. His head lolled about and then he fell to the mossy soil.

"Lad?" Timothy moaned as he knelt next to the boy. "Were you real then?"

Behind him Theodric laughed. "I can bring him back to you. Just give me your allegiance.

"Never!" shouted Timothy. He backed away from the demon that wore the shape of his student. "I will never serve you!" He came up short against the boulder. He swung his sword back and forth futilely before him.

From behind and around him the voices moved like the rising mist. But it wasn't Timothy they attacked… but the demon.

"Holy Ground! You've broken the rules!"

"I care not for your pathetic rules," the demon, his eyes now bright read spat. He waved his hands at the ghostly wraiths as if they were nothing.

"You are bound to them even as are we," the voices cried. Timothy felt some degree of comfort. He lowered his sword. "You have no power here demon," the voices continued. "Now is not your time. This champion will not fall to you."

"He is already mine!" snarled the demon. He was waving his arms wildly now.

"Not here and not now. You have lost. Go back to the shadows and wait for the time to come again… when the walls between the world that was and the one that will be are thinned once more. Go back! Go back! Go back!"

Even as the echoing chant of the voices faded in the refrain, the angry demon thinned and was no more.

"Wait," cried Timothy to the wraiths. "Who am I? Who are you? What shall I do?"

"Wait in the lands to the north for he that will come next," the voices replied. "You will know him when he comes. You have fought well and have earned your rest."

"But who are we?"

"You are the champion… the hope of the people to bring about the return of all that was."

"Who are you?"

Laughter sounded and echoed about him as the mists swirled. "We are the people of the Mist… the Children of the Ancient World. We are the Undying Ones."

Sunlight pierced the mist and burned it away. Timothy dropped to his knees and with his bare hands, scratched a shallow grave into the mossy earth at the base of the boulder. He buried the boy Aelfdane there. He wept for his actions and prayed for guidance.

"The northland they told me. The land of the Celts… brothers to those of us who came from Jutland." Timothy rose and set his eyes on the distant mountains to the north. He struggled alone through a defeated land until he found a cave near Loch Bannoch… a cave with voices that whispered to him even as the voices of the mist had.

"Welcome Champion. Lay down your arms. You have fought the good fight."

"Am I to be granted death at last?" he asked them.

"When your successor comes," the voices laughed. "When he comes… the Highland child born on the Winter Solstice. When he comes."

With a grateful heart, Timothy settled in to wait.

-----

He could feel him at last… the long foretold one. Timothy cackled in delight. His time had come and he who would face the demon was here at last. He would grant him rest. Oh yes… rest at the end of service. He would die by the sword.

What was it the voices told him to tell the young one? Ahh yes…

_What we are is written in the wind_

_Long before we walked this world_

_The roads we travel_

_And where they lead us…_

Timothy of Gilliam, the mad hermit of Loch Bannoch raised his head and grinned as the Highlander entered the cave.

-----


	44. Part 3 Written in the Wind Ch 41

**Part Three: _Written in the Wind_**

**Chapter Forty-One**

**Niebos, Greece, January 2024:**

"I don't know about this," Eleanor told J.D. the following afternoon. "It's only been a day."

"I feel fine now," J.D. insisted quietly, his voice still breathy and rough. "And I promise not to yell and scream. But Mom… I'm bored. Please let me go." He gave his mother his best earnest and pleading smile… complete with batting his eyes. At the door, he could see the other boys holding in their snicker. They'd found something that they wanted him to see as well. It seemed important.

"Your throat should still be sore. The bruises look several days old though," Eleanor replied hesitantly. "Why not give it another day. You still have your game."

"Mom?" he pleaded.

Finally she sat back and brushed an errant lock of black hair behind her right ear. "Well… "

J.D. grinned.

"But I want a solemn oath from all of you not to make him yell and to be careful!" she added sternly.

J.D. threw his arms around her. "You're the best, Mom!" Then he scrambled from the bed to get dressed in the room he shared with the others. He'd be careful… but already it didn't hurt to talk. He glanced into a mirror and noticed the bruising. It still looked bad though… but they did seem to look a bit faded. He noted some green and yellow amidst the bruising. They'd likely be gone entirely in another day or two if previous bruising was any indication.

He pulled on a sweater, jeans, his socks and sneakers and then raced downstairs to meet the other three boys on the _portico_.

"What's up?" he asked. They'd been very secretive about what they'd found.

"You'll see!" grinned Denis, throwing an arm around his taller if younger friend.

Chou nodded, doing likewise. "It's something _really_ eye-opening and won't be there tomorrow," he added mysteriously.

Kenny just grinned. His eyes were bright as if he'd seen something wonderful that he'd never thought to see.

The four boys, three immortals and one child, arm in arm, stepped down into the yard and sedately left the grounds of the villa. Once out of sight of the adults, they tagged one another and took off running. J.D. eagerly followed, making certain he didn't outrun them today. After all… he still didn't know quite where they were going or why.

The boys led him up the path to a spot that overlooked a small spring. They quickly flattened on the crest of the hill and dragged J.D. down with them.

He immediately saw what they'd wanted to share. At the moment, the female biker, Brynn, was straddling one of her naked male companions and riding him up and down while the other male lay stretched nearby.

"Oh shit!" J.D. whispered. His wide eyes focused on the sight of Brynn's breasts bumping up and down; slowly he became aware that he felt pressure and something very uncomfortable in his pants. He flopped onto his back and grimaced. "What the hell?" His hands flew to his crotch.

The others glanced at him and began to laugh quietly.

"J.D.'s got a boner!" Denis said.

"No shit! Wish I was old enough to have one," Chou laughed. "That Brynn is certainly bonalicious!"

Kenny just grinned knowingly and nodded.

J.D. rolled to his side and drew his legs up. "What's a boner? How do I get it to stop? It hurts."

The three immortals just laughed and pushed at him.

"Just go with it!"

"Maybe Micah could tell you what to do!"

J.D. closed his eyes and tried to think of something… but all he could think of was Brynn and those bouncing naked breasts on her. The pain and throbbing between his legs grew and grew. The swelling felt huge and ready to explode. What was happening to him? He moaned slightly.

The others suddenly stopped laughing. J.D. opened an eye. Sarah Manning was coming up the same path. The other three scrambled to race away, pushing past her as they did so.

J.D. tried to stand and managed a step or two before he bent over. This was worse than cramps if he ate and then jumped into the water to swim. This was terrible!

Sarah came to a stop in front of him. "What's wrong boy?" She glanced over the edge. "Oh!" she added quietly and then helped him sit down, while she crouched before him. "Shh… I know what to do."

J.D. heard a snicker of laughter in her voice that made him even more uncomfortable. He tried to scoot away from her. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"Oh… I know you're fine. And a minute is about all it will take," she said unbuttoning her shirt to expose her own small breasts to him.

J.D. gasped and then groaned again as the pain and pressure increased. But he watched them fall free of the fabric and hang like tantalizing objects in the air between them.

Sarah gently moved his hands from his crotch and placed them on her breasts. "See how soft and inviting they are?" she murmured as she then unzipped his jeans and slipped a hand inside his shorts. J.D. gasped at the coolness of her touch. She gripped his penis and began to massage it. "Sarah can make it all better."

J.D. gritted his teeth and moaned. His hips moved back and forth on the rocky soil as she massaged him faster and faster. His hands tightly and repeatedly squeezed those breasts. _This is wrong!_ He thought. But right or wrong it was happening. His breath came faster and faster in great gulps until he thought he'd explode. Then he seemed to.

Sarah laughed and withdrew her hands, wiping them on his jeans. "There you go. All better now?" She pulled back and re-buttoned her shirt as she laughed.

J.D.'s jeans were wet as if he'd had an accident. But he did feel better. He tentatively touched his crotch. The swelling was gone. He looked up at her. "What did you did?"

"Oh nothing much… just a time-honored way that women help men. You should mention it to your mother. I'm certain she can help you the next time it happens. After all… she does this for your father on a regular basis. And it will continue to happen to you now that you are becoming a man." She smiled and leaned forward so that her lips brushed his. He felt like an electric current was passing through him; at the same time he smelled something like a dead animal. She pulled back, not seeming to have felt anything and grinned at him. J.D. thought for a moment that her eyes seemed red and that her smile was one a cat might have after eating a canary. Then she licked her teeth.

J.D. had the distinct impression that what Sarah had done was not at all right… that it was something shameful… that telling his mother was the last thing he wanted to do. He zipped up his wet and now sticky jeans. "Uh thanks. Later." J.D. rose, pushed past her, and ran back along the path. He had to get back to the villa and get cleaned up before his mother saw him. He could hear Sarah laughing behind him. Hot tears ran down his burning cheeks. He couldn't let anyone know what had happened.

-----

At the edge of the villa grounds, J.D. hid in the bushes and then circled around to the side door that led to Phillip's study. He peeked through the glass-paneled doors and saw that no one in there. Gingerly, J.D. opened the door and slipped inside. Then he went to the panel doors leading to the foyer and opened them a crack. He waited until no one was in the hallway or on the stairs and then quietly made his way upstairs.

Entering the bathroom in his mother's room, he peeled off his clothes while he ran a hot bath. Once the tub was full, he climbed in and sat with his knees drawn to his chest while visions of bouncing breasts still danced in his mind. The swelling began again… but this time… he managed to start saying multiplication tables until it went away. It took doing the '13's' before it did so though. Those were always the ones he had trouble with.

By then, the water was cooling off. He added some more hot to it and then stretched out and tried to relax.

"J.D.? You in there? Is everything all right?" She knocked at the bathroom door but didn't open it.

Oh shit! It was his mother!

"Fine mom," he croaked out. "I just got dirty and wanted to get cleaned up before getting back into bed. I'm kinda tired," he added, making certain his voice cracked. His heart seemed to be thumping loudly in his ears.

"All right. Ring the bell if you need me," she said. Her footsteps indicated she was leaving. He could hear her humming something as she left and the sound of her voice drifted away down the corridor.

J.D. breathed a sigh of relief. Any residual swelling appeared to have gone by this time. This had something to do with how his parents were with one another. He knew they did something at night… but he'd never imagined this… or ever thought to see it… at least not until he was grown. He still thought telling his mother was a bad idea… but he needed to talk to someone. His dad was gone and Phillip was on the far side of the island. Besides… look what had happened the last time he tried to talk to _him_. No… Phillip was definitely out. So who should it be?

When the water got cold this time, J.D. rose and stepped out of the tub. He wrapped a big, fluffy white towel about his waist and picked up his soiled clothing to put into the hamper. They smelled funny. He dropped the clothing into the tub and swished it around. Then he wrung the clothes out and tossed them into the hamper.

He combed his hair as he stared into the mirror. He didn't look any different… but he felt different. Finally he turned off the light and grabbed his pajama bottoms off the bed. Pulling them on, he climbed into his parents' bed and scrunched down to play his video game. For some reason… the female figures in the game suddenly seemed to have enormous breasts that bulged in their clothing and strained to be free. He swallowed hard as he felt the swelling discomfort begin again.

-----

Despite feeling glad to be back on the island, Micah found he missed just being alone with Madrigal. The two had decided to just be close friends while they were on Niebos and not to wish for anything more. Still… it was hard.

Micah leaned against her; his right arm about her shoulders while her face was tucked shyly into his chest. She sighed and he sighed with her.

"I think of you," he told her.

"I think of you too," she giggled. "Well… if the other house were empty, we could see about staying there. Guess we just have to be patient. To outside eyes… we are still only children."

"I know," Micah grumbled slightly. Then he turned and kissed her hair. "But that can be both blessing and curse I suppose."

"That sums it up pretty well," she laughed.

Micah felt other immortals somewhere close by and looked around. "Wonder who that is?" The two young people were sitting on a bench on the stone dock.

"Likely the other small ones," Madrigal replied. She pulled loose and looked around. "Maybe the boys?"

Micah nodded. "I think you might be right. Wonder what they're up to?"

Madrigal shook her head. "Well… you're a boy. Go find out. I know you want to." Her eyes sparkled and betrayed her amusement.

"You don't mind?" Micah said with a grin.

"Go!" She shooed him off with a light laugh and then rose to stroll back towards the villa.

Micah watched her go, sighed, and then eagerly headed down to the small beach near the dock. Once on the sand he paused, closed his eyes, and zeroed in on whom he felt. "Gotcha!" he crowed as his eyes snapped open. He felt three immortals up the beach near the caves. In boyish enthusiasm he raced after them.

Micah found them rolling in the sand, holding their sides and laughing. Suddenly he felt old beyond his apparent years. He was "head boy" after all. He folded his arms across his chest and struck a pose. "All right now. What are you three up to?"

All three stopped laughing, stared up at him, and then stared at one another as they laughed again. Micah felt isolated from the fun… whatever it was.

"Can't!" Chou explained as he rose and raced further down the beach.

"What he said," Denis crowed as he followed his friend until the two of them were arm-in-arm as if they'd never been apart.

Micah stared down at Kenny who was watching the other two somberly.

"Feeling left out?" Micah asked.

Kenny shrugged and picked up a stick. He began to draw in the sand.

Micah flung himself to the ground next to him as he decided that even if Kenny couldn't talk, he might like the company. Kenny had never really fit in with the others when he'd been at _Ste. Genevieve_… but he seemed to have mellowed some since Micah had last seen him.

Kenny shrugged again. Micah glanced at the pornographic doodling and grinned. Evidently he wasn't the only one caught and having mature thoughts in a young body. He supposed the difference was that he was able to act on his thoughts a bit while the younger in apparent age boys could not. He smiled thinking of Madrigal and what they'd finally managed.

"Oh… that," Micah said gently. Kenny's latest drawing was of exaggerated breasts on a woman's torso. "Yeah… those are nice."

Kenny shot him a bitter glance and tossed the stick away. "Damn!" he said and then his eyes grew round as his hands clapped over his mouth. He looked surprised.

"Hey… you can talk," Micah laughed and clapped him on the back.

Kenny's hands pulled away from his mouth. "Did I say that out loud?" He covered his mouth again in surprise and then let the hands drop away. "I can talk again!" He shot upwards and pranced around as the sand blew lightly about his legs. "I can leave here!" At that he stopped and then collapsed back onto the sand.

"Don't want to go quite yet?" Micah asked.

Kenny shook his head. "Not yet." He gazed up at Micah. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Depends," Micah said warily. "What is it?"

"About my talking. If Phillip knows I can talk again… he'll send me packing. I don't want him to know just yet."

Micah laid his chin against his knees as he rocked back and forth considering it. Kenny had never been trustworthy in all the time he'd known him. Marie-France, the immortal num who'd run the convent school for immortal children, had repeatedly warned the small ones about leaving holy ground with Kenny. Micah also knew that keeping secrets was one way to create problems in their small society. Still… Kenny had a point about Phillip. The swordmaster had little patience with him from the stories Micah had heard. It might be wise to allow Kenny to tell the swordmaster himself. Accordingly, Micah nodded. "Only as long as it makes sense and only until Phillip comes back. Deal?"

"Deal!" crowed Kenny. He grinned from ear to ear and then jumped up to follow the other two small ones down the beach. Micah considered going after them and then decided that he was no longer one of them… he'd crossed an invisible barrier that made him one of the grown ups. Even if he physically still seemed a child… he no longer felt or thought as one.

For several long moments Micah watched the dolphins out in the waves jump and dive in the clear waters. Finally he rose and ambled back to the villa. He missed Madrigal and wanted to tell her about the dolphins. Micah smiled to himself. Madrigal had become the center of his world… a center he had never before considered possible.

-----


	45. Chapter Forty Two

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**Hong Kong, January 2024:**

A persistent rain had begun to fall by the time the immortals had made their third vehicle exchange. At this stop, Kiem Sun had opened a trunk of clothing and costumes. MacLeod and Amanda sorted through them until they found something that would work and that would let them shed their hospital gowns and robes, still hidden under their stolen coats.

"So what now?" asked Steven Keane.

"Now we have to get out of Hong Kong," Duncan murmured. He'd found a small mirror and was looking at his hair. The black was growing out and he also needed a shave.

Amanda, stunning as always even in men's trousers and a white shirt tied off at her waist grabbed the mirror from him to check her reflection. "Honestly MacLeod. I've never understood men gazing into mirrors as if being ruggedly handsome wasn't a good thing." Mentally she kissed his lips as she winked at him. _Reagan… very nice!_ she added coyly. Evidently his past assignations didn't bother her. Duncan glanced at Reagan with a smile and felt Amanda's internal laughter. Maybe this was a good sign.

Amanda pursed her lips together. "Reagan darling… any lipstick?"

Regan reached into a pocket and tossed her a small object. "Sorry… just tinted lip gloss."

"Oh pooh!" sighed Amanda. "It's pink." Nevertheless she began to apply some. "One has to make do," she teased Duncan with a wink.

Reagan grinned and shook her head.

"So where to now?" Duncan asked the others. "I have a feeling our papers won't get us out now."

Reagan grinned. "Well not legally at the border stops but…" She turned to Steven. "The private jet? Think we can get them on there?"

Steven nodded. "I can grease a few palms to look the other way if I have to." He made a show of pulling out his wallet and looking through it. "I might need to stop at a bank again."

"I'll see you're reimbursed for whatever you're out," Duncan added bitterly.

Steven looked up at him. "If I didn't want to do it… I wouldn't have. But thank you."

"Don't mention it. So…private airplane?" He looked at Reagan.

"The bonding company I work for leaves one at my disposal," she shrugged with a coy grin. "I never know when I have to hop aboard and move on. Call it the perk of the job."

"So no problem with swords then," Kiem Sun commented. He glanced out at the falling rain. "I really don't want to leave Hong Kong."

"The crime lords will cut you to pieces, Kiem," Reagan said gently. "It's time to move on. You can start again some place else."

"True… but I liked living here." He seemed sadly resigned to the fact of leaving.

The four stepped out of the storage locker and stood in the rain as Sun locked the facility up. Then they walked out to the curb where Reagan flagged a taxi. She climbed up front to give the driver directions as the other four crammed into the rear seat. Amanda trilled to be surrounded by so much testosterone. She laughed and kissed Duncan. _Only you!_ she thought as she did so. _Only you! _

Duncan laughed and pulled her onto his lap as the taxi careened through Hong Kong. It felt good to hold her… good and somehow right. He sighed in contentment. Whatever madness had taken them earlier seemed to have vanished for the moment. Once they got home, he planned to have a long talk with Methos. One of his hands slipped inside Amanda's shirt and his fingers began to trace the patterns instinctively.

She sighed and he reluctantly withdrew the hand and patted her leg. Anything more might not be too wise in their current situation.

-----

Once the immortals arrived at the airport, Steven paid the taxi while Reagan headed for the terminal to arrange their flight. The others found shelter from the rain near the plane's hanger. Reagan had said not to call attention to their group while she took care of the clearances they'd need, so the four had huddled on the lea side of the hanger and managed to get out of the worst of the rain.

Lightning crackled in the cloud heavy sky and the thunder boomed. Visibility was low as mist and fog rose about the airport.

Duncan pulled his collar up. "Looks like we might have a layover. I don't like this. We're too exposed."

Kiem Sun nodded. They'd taken every precaution he knew of in their flight from the hospital… they'd changed clothes and vehicles several times. Still… the word would be out by now and all it took was one person putting the pieces together or having seen something he shouldn't. Kiem Sun closed his eyes and visualized the image of the crystal still in its box in MacLeod's coat pocket… and the vision he'd once seen there. _All actions serve the greater good!_ he thought. _If by my death I can help our kind achieve that… so be it._ He sighed and felt calm once more.

It was then that they became aware of another immortal nearby. Kiem Sun's eyes snapped open and his hands gripped his staff… ready to protect the others.

Duncan put a hand out to restrain him. "Wait," he said. "Let's see who it is." He peered through the rain and saw a tall, thin figure in a black coat and wide-brimmed hat standing in the rain. He was smoking a cigarette. Duncan stepped out into the rain. "Vrej?"

The man looked up and took a drag on his cigarette before flicking it away. "Greetings MacLeod."

"What are you doing here?"

"I have business here. Immortal business."

Duncan shook his head. "What? Then why arrange my release in Moscow? Why tell Reagan I was here? What purpose does this serve?"

Ratavoussian laughed. "It's not always about you MacLeod. You're my friend. You have saved my life on numerous occasions… and I repay my debts."

"Then who?" Duncan persisted in confusion.

Vrej smiled grimly.

"You don't have to do this!" Duncan continued. He glanced around. "There could be witnesses."

"The hanger is empty. As I said MacLeod… this isn't about you." Vrej's eyes glanced over at the others. They came to rest on Amanda. She noticed.

Pointing at her chest she asked, "Me? Why?"

Vrej shrugged.

"No!" thundered Duncan. "I won't allow it!"

"And that is why I chose her. She is weak. She lets others fight her battles. In our game… only the strong deserve to continue."

"Listen buster!" Amanda said as she pushed forward trying to get to him past Duncan. "No one fights my battles! I can do quite well on my own you insignificant little _puissant_!"

'No Amanda," Duncan said grabbing her and holding her back. "Let me talk to him. It's not personal… its just the game."

Amanda seethed as she struggled to free her blade.

_Please?_ sent Duncan.

She met his sad gaze. _My fight!_

He stroked her chin with a sad smile. Then without warning, punched her in the face. She collapsed unconscious backward into Steven Keane's arms. Duncan shook his head and shrugged at the others. Then he turned back to Vrej.

"My fight. I challenge you… here and now." Then he shrugged with a grim expression. "Just making certain you have your priorities straight. If you insist on fighting her first… I will take your head."

"MacLeod… my friend… there is no need for us to fight."

"There is every reason. If your reason to challenge her is that she is unworthy… then I make the same claim about you. You attack and kill the young, the child immortals, and untrained women. What's wrong… pickings slim these days?"

Vrej's dark eyes glittered; his fists flinched again and again. "So be it," he murmured quietly. "I shall kill you and still take her head. Interference is beneath you MacLeod."

"Shall we find a venue?"

"That hanger is currently empty. The others can keep watch," Vrej replied bitterly. He gestured toward a smaller hanger and then, holding his head high, led the way toward it.

The hanger held only a small short-range plane at present. Once inside, both immortals doffed their overcoats and pulled their swords. Steven laid Amanda on a pile of rags and then stood with Kiem Sun at the hanger doors.

Duncan and Vrej circled one another; their gazes focused on the other's moves… their swords ready to attack. Vrej's _kopesh_ was pointed at MacLeod. Duncan's _katana_ was in a shifting overhead position.

"What sort of sword is that?" asked Steven quietly to Kiem Sun.

"Odd one for him to use," Kiem Sun nodded. He rested his head on his hands holding his staff and continued. "That's an ancient Egyptian blade. Notice how it's curved in the blade. It was the precursor of the scimitar."

"I thought he was Russian," Steven mumbled, turning as Amanda was beginning to stir. "I better keep a hold of her majesty."

Kiem nodded and continued to watch the fight, ready to step in if necessary. Despite the no interference rule… if MacLeod were in danger… Sun _would_ interfere.

Vrej lunged suddenly at Duncan who deflected the blow with a sudden move of his _katana_ from overhead to an upward block. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" MacLeod laughed.

"I had to try," Vrej replied and then shifted the _kopesh_ to his other hand as he continued to circle with it held high.

Duncan watched Vrej move. He'd sparred with him on a number of occasions and had even taught him a few moves. But this style was different… older perhaps… something he learned from someone he'd killed? Methos would likely recognize it were he here. But it didn't matter. What mattered was… as always… his survival and fighting a clean fight. He was Duncan MacLeod… and no one challenged the immortals he protected! Duncan lunged, the tip of the _katana_ drawing a small amount of blood from Vrej's unprotected leg. He pulled back into a block even as Vrej reacted with an overhead slice that made Duncan's hands tremble from the impact. Clearly he had made the Russian mad.

Suddenly Vrej changed tactics with a series of blows back and forth, which forced Duncan to give way, moving back and around to his left. The sounds of steel on steel came swifter now… more labored as both men began to show some of their skills and weaknesses.

With a grunt, Vrej whirled and sliced toward Duncan's midsection. When Duncan reacted to block, the Russian changed direction and came from Duncan's unprotected side. The blade made contact with the Highlander who faltered a moment and then dropped to one knee to block the follow-up blow. Still… the wound was clearly serious and blood was flowing.

Kiem Sun's hands flexed and unflexed on his staff. To wait too long would be disastrous… but to strike too soon could also create problems. He stepped forward and twirled his staff.

-----

"Stay back!" yelled Duncan, his hand to his side, the other holding the _katana_ up in a block.

Vrej laughed and retreated slightly instead of pressing his advantage. "I grant you respite because you are honorable. Give me the woman to fight and we can call this a draw."

"Never," Duncan sneered darkly as he managed to regain his feet. He still held his hand over the wound and blood could be seen oozing around his fingers.

"Oh… I dipped this in something that keeps blood from clotting. While it doesn't stop one of us from healing… it does slow the process my friend," the Russian laughed.

"You never used to cheat," Duncan spat and began to slowly circle once more. He waved the _katana_ back and forth weakly.

"Oh?" Vrej laughed. "Well… maybe just a little." He attacked once more with a new series of blows. Duncan was hard-pressed to avoid them and the more he moved, the more his side bled. He backed up to the small plane, ducked to avoid a slice and then jumped up on the plane's wing. From there he had a momentary height advantage. He swung the _katana_ downward with both hands… its keen cutting edge slicing across Vrej's back.

The Russian hissed and stepped out of range. He felt his back and whirled with wild eyes back at the Highlander. "That hurt!"

'Sauce for the goose," Duncan replied. He kept the _katana_ level and in both hands, ready for the next attack. His side felt like flame. He hadn't gotten a good blow in on Vrej… the angle had been wrong for a crippling blow. _Dammit!_ How had the man improved so much? Changed his style so much? It was if Duncan were fighting an entirely different immortal… one older and far more experienced than he'd thought. He leaped from the wing of the plane to tackle Vrej before he could resituate his stance.

The two rolled on the oily concrete floor… their swords clanging on the floor as they rolled. Duncan managed to hold Vrej down and began to throw punches into the other's face. Vrej grabbed Duncan's neck and with claw-like accuracy… began to squeeze. His _kopesh_ rolled useless and forgotten to one side.

Duncan twisted free of the Russian's vice grip and laid the _katana_ against his friend's neck. "Submit!" he ordered.

Vrej's eyes opened as he realized his mistake. His hands gripped the _katana's_ blade and he exerted effort to get it away from his neck. Blood trickled from his sliced fingers. Duncan relented the pressure and rose to his feet. He backed off slightly.

Vrej rubbed the trickle of blood on his neck and rolled to grasp his _kopesh_. He jumped to regain his feet from a supine position. Then he whirled and danced… once more on the attack.

-----

Against the wall, Amanda sat up and rubbed her nose. "Dammit MacLeod! You broke it!" she complained in a loud voice. Then she saw the fight.

_No!_ she sent. _Mine!_ She rose and was fighting off Steven when Duncan slammed his mind shut to her. She winced and moaned at the sudden pain. She bent over, rubbing her temples. "Noooo!" she wailed as if bereft.

Steven caught her in his arms as she struggled to get free. "You can't interfere!"

"Why not? He did! The fight is mine!"

"And he's barely holding his own. Don't distract him!"

Amanda's eyes opened wider in understanding. "Distraction. Damn… should have thought of that." She stopped fighting Steven and remained in his restraining embrace while she feverishly watched the fight continue.

-----

Duncan avoided the slice and began to move through the steps and moves of a _kata_… short and incredibly swift. He let his body move without his even thinking of the moves. Vrej paused in his onslaught… confused. Then Duncan began his attack, using the greater length and weight of the deadly _katana_ to push Vrej back. Finally, in an undercut and twist, he managed to disarm Vrej and to thrust the _katana_ directly into his opponent's stomach. He turned and sliced.

Vrej gasped and then fell to his knees as Duncan withdrew the blade. Vrej nodded and ripped open his bloodied shirt as he lowered his head. "Make it swift." He closed his eyes.

Duncan breathed heavily while he drew the _katana_ back to the overhead position from which only gravity was needed to complete the deathblow. He waited. Outside the hanger lightning flashed and thunder rolled.

"Is death what you truly seek?" he asked the Russian.

Vrej looked up at him curiously. "I have lost. I demand a swift death," He closed his eyes again. Still Duncan waited. Then he tossed the _katana _to one side and knelt, withdrawing the small ebony box from his pocket. He grasped Vrej's face as he opened the box to let Vrej see the stone. "What do you really want?"

"No!" screamed Amanda. "That's mine! You can't give him that!" She began to struggle once more.

Kiem Sun suddenly smiled and chuckled. "Brilliant," he murmured.

Vrej's face became slack and then filled with joy. He cackled in delight and nodded his head… almost taking a bow from where he knelt. "Thank ya," he said in his Elvis voice. "Thank ya very much." His hands reached to hold the box.

Duncan clasped the side of his head and forced Vrej to meet his gaze… black eyes met brown ones. "It's yours… or it can be. I ask you again… is death what you seek?"

Vrej appeared thoughtful as if there were some inner struggle. His eyes darted back to whatever he saw in the pulsing stone. "I loved doing that. I never wanted to stop. But I had to move on."

"The world is wide, Vrej," Duncan said quietly. "It can be the life you want again."

The Russian nodded. "He was so talented… I was happy helping others know how great he was." He glanced up at Duncan and smiled. He closed the box and handed the box back. "I understand now. The one I killed was _old_… old and bitter. I know his voice for what it is now. Kill me if you have to."

"As long as you don't threaten my friends or those I protect… we don't have a problem." Duncan said as he pocketed the box again, a slight smile crossing his face.

Amanda finally pulled free of Keane and drew her sword as she raced forward to attack. Duncan rose and struggled to hold her. "He's mine!" she protested as Duncan shook her.

"Listen to me. I don't want anyone to die if it's possible."

Amanda stopped her struggles as his mind opened to her again. _I didn't want you to kill him!_ he chuckled. _I wanted to reach him_. Duncan kissed her brow "He's my friend, Amanda. He saved my life. But you're the love of my life." Then his lips brushed against hers. She reveled in the chaste kiss that also was so much more.

Behind them Vrej began to rise. He leaned to pick up his _kopesh_. Kiem Sun whirled his staff to bring it down on the Russian's hands. "I think I'll hold that for a bit," he said softly. He picked it up and fitted it inside his coat.

Vrej nodded numbly. He bent slightly, holding his hand to his stomach wound. "I think I'm going to pass out," he mumbled as he staggered and fell.

Behind them, the hanger doors opened. It was Reagan. "What are you guys doing in here? Our plane's in the other hanger?" She took in the tableau and the body on the concrete. "Oh… a privacy issue."

"Do we leave him behind then?" Keane asked.

"Well we can't take off until the storm ends," Reagan said with a shake of her head as she crouched next to Vrej's body. She moved his head back and forth and glanced up at Duncan and Amanda. "You still have time to finish I guess."

Duncan laughed as he held Amanda close. He turned to locate his _katana_. "I think we're done here." He released Amanda only long enough to pick it up. He flicked the blood off and pulled a cloth to burnish it before slipping it back into his coat.

"I wanted to control the situation. I didn't want him dead… but I didn't want anyone else dead either." He met Keane's nod. Perhaps they'd turned a corner in their relationship. Perhaps Keane was seeing how hard it sometimes was to walk away… or that Duncan was capable of it on more than one occasion.

Reagan shook her head. "I don't understand. I know he'd changed… but… why get me to spring you if he wanted you dead?"

Steven leaned over and pulled her to her feet. "It's a long story. I can tell you while we wait."

"Wait?" She glanced down at Vrej.

Steven shrugged. For whichever comes first… end of storm and our flight or his revival."

Kiem Sun breathed deeply as he moved off to one side. His death was not yet called for. MacLeod… even if he did not see what Kiem had seen in the stone… understood his role in all of this… even if he didn't clearly grasp it. He leaned on the staff, a mysterious and benign smile across his face.

As it turned out, Vrej woke up moments before the storm finally let up. He sat up with a silly grin on his face. "I think I need a vacation," he said.

Duncan nodded. "You sound more like your old self."

Vrej shrugged. "No harm no foul?"

Amanda snorted and crossed her arms.

Duncan reached down to help the man up. "Next time… I will cut that worthless head of yours off."

"And rob the world of the greatest tribute singer of the greatest singer that ever was?" Vrej laughed. "I don't think so. After all… _I'm a hunka, hunka burnin' love_…" he sang as he turned and posed.

Duncan rolled his eyes.

Vrej straightened and became serious again. "You might need my connections in where you're going."

Duncan peered at him closely. "How do you know where I'm going?"

Vrej shrugged. "I don't… but I really don't want to return to Moscow right now."

"If he comes… I'm staying in Hong Kong," Amanda protested.

Duncan turned to reassure her. Meanwhile, Vrej began singing scales. "Man those cigarettes messed me up big time," he said after one painfully bad one. "I need to get back into shape."

Reagan laughed. "I told you that. No one ever listens to me." She slapped her hands to her sides in protest.

Soon there after, the five immortals were seated in the private jet. Duncan waved out at Vrej on the tarmac as the plane taxied. Reagan had gotten their clearances by indicating she was working as a bodyguard to a couple of Hong Kong businessmen (Kiem and Steven) and their guests. For once, everything went smoothly and as the sky cleared, they were on their way.

"What do you think will happen to him?" Amanda asked as she leaned over Duncan to stare at Vrej on the ground.

"I have no idea," he said and pulled her into the seat. He buckled her in with him. "Don't you know anything about seatbelt rules?"

"I do… but this is so much better," she said coyly. He laughed and kissed her… letting his mind drift in patterns over her body. _Love you_, he thought.

_Love you too_, Amanda replied and kissed him back. Then she cuddled against him and sighed in contentment.

The small plane gained altitude and headed toward the southwest.

-----


	46. Chapter Forty Three

**Chapter Forty-Three**

**Somewhere in the desert, January 2024:**

Cassandra shaded her eyes. "Someone's coming," she called down to Ren and Alisaunne at the base of the dune where they'd been resting in the shadows. Overhead the sun beat down and with no water, they'd been trying to sleep or rest during daylight. Cassandra had drawn the short straw to keep watch.

On the horizon, a lone figure strode confidently across the sands. From here, Cassandra could tell he wore the robes and headdress of a Bedouin. She shifted the automatic rifle up and peered through the scope, ready to shoot if more came over the dune behind this one. She still fumed that she'd not been able to expiate her anger on the men in the camp. She swore to herself that the next one she saw would be dead within moments of her seeing him.

Carefully she aimed at the man coming ever closer. She sensed Alisaunne and Warren (or Ren as he insisted) crawl up to either side of her and take similar positions.

"Is it them?" Ali asked.

"I cannot tell yet. I have yet to sense him."

Ren rolled onto his back. "Don't fire unless we know for certain. Listen to me Cassandra… one shot and we'll bring all of them down on us."

Cassandra lowered her head, closed her eyes and trembled as she fought back the retort. "I know that," she finally said in a clipped voice that betrayed her anger. Ren touched her arm.

"This man may be just a wanderer."

"In this place?" the psychic replied with incredulity.

Ren laughed. "Yeah… does seem odd." He peered through his site and shook his head. "Should one of us go out there?"

Alisaunne shook her head. "Not a good idea. He could be a lure." Her face suddenly paled and she gasped. "He's immortal."

"I feel him," Cassandra said, biting her lip. She leaned down to sight him again, wishing the scope were stronger. She wanted to see that bastard's face clearly when she shot him. Then she'd grab Ren's claymore and hack him to pieces. Her finger inched closer to the trigger, curling around it just short of pulling on it and sending out a flurry of shots at the immortal.

The wind whipped the veil of his headdress from his face and she gasped. "Derrick!" Cassandra dropped the rifle and stood up waving her arm. Then she began a fast descent of the dune, joined by an equally ecstatic Alisaunne.

The two women nearly fell head over heels on the down-slope, so loose was the sand and so treacherous the footing. Derrick's arms opened in greeting as they raced across the sands. Both women reached him at almost the same moment. Both kissed him and hugged him even as he hugged them back with a laugh.

"I was so worried about you," Alisaunne said laughing as the three of them headed back to the dune and to Ren.

"I feared you were dead," Cassandra murmured. She leaned against him slightly as they walked, comfortable in his embrace and wishing that it were something more.

"You were right to worry. The Egyptian was good… damn good," Derrick replied with a nod. "I was lucky."

"And he is dead," Cassandra added affirmatively.

Derrick said nothing.

Cassandra stopped and pulled him to a stop. "He _is_ dead?"

"Well… there's dead and there's dead," Derrick shrugged. "I couldn't risk a quickening. I'd have ended up hacked to pieces by his mortal men if I'd taken his head."

"Then he will be back?" Cassandra shrieked. She turned and paced for a moment.

Alisaunne sighed. "I was afraid of that." She glanced at Derrick. "It's why you wanted us to get in and out of there so fast. There was no way to know how much those men knew about immortals and how to kill us."

Derrick shrugged again. "Beheading is part of the culture around here." He glanced up at Ren on the top of the dune and waved. The other immortal laid his automatic rifle on his shoulder and shook his head before vanishing down the other side.

"I take it you haven't found the others," Derrick commented.

"We followed their tracks and obscured them until late last night. Then we couldn't see anything. We kept on until dawn. The heat finally stopped us. No water and no food," Alisaunne explained.

Derrick unslung the waterbag from his shoulder and tossed it to her. "Don't drink it all at once," he laughed. He pulled the food parcel from his shirt and handed it to Cassandra. "It's really not bad," he laughed when she wrinkled her nose at it. By this time they'd mounted the dune and were descending into the small shadow at its base on the other side. Once in the small shadow, the four crouched about one another and drank water and ate bites of the bread and cheese.

"It's a wonder you found us," Ren said. "I wasn't even certain we were on the right path any longer."

"I was lucky," Derrick replied. Then he unslung the small carpet from across his back. "By the way… I retrieved these for you." He untied it and unrolled it to display the four extra swords."

"My _wakizashi_!" Alisaunne exclaimed. "I thought I'd never see it again!" She lifted it and the small _tanto_ eagerly and tested them a moment. Then she turned and handed Ren his claymore. "Thanks," she said.

Ren took it back and stared at it for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Right. That one's mine."

Cassandra hissed and reached for the scimitar. Derrick grabbed her hand. "Not that one," he told her gently. She met his gaze. For a moment he saw greed and anger there. Then it passed and a tear formed in her eye. She blinked it away and moved her hand to retrieve her bastard broadsword. "I should stay with what I know," she murmured lifting it. She ripped a strip of cloth from the robe she wore and tied it about her waist. Then she slipped the sword into her makeshift belt.

Derrick chuckled before wrapping Amber's cutlass and the scimitar back in the rug. He slung the pack over his back again and then stood to stare at the sun's angle above the horizon before glancing at his watch and then turning in a westerly direction. He extended one arm and seemed to site along it. "That way I think."

"How do you know?" Alisaunne asked.

Derrick shrugged. "I was a sailor. One of the things we learned was how to figure direction without a sextant and compass on the open sea. This desert is much the same. I know the heading I gave Amber. If they're following it… it should be that way. Everyone rested?"

Ren stood and gazed at him thoughtfully. Derrick met that gaze, noticing that the immortal seemed calmer and more in control of his emotions. "We should wait until nightfall," Ren said.

Derrick shook his head. "We'll never catch them that way. We have to move faster than they do. I can't guarantee how long it might be before the hijackers come after us. We need to be with the others."

"The water won't last," Ren replied calmly.

Derrick nodded. "It won't last if we wait either. Stay if you want," he added with a shrug. "I'm going." He turned and started over the dune along the path he'd pointed. "Catch up if you can!" he called back to the others.

Alisaunne and Cassandra watched him go and then glanced at Ren. "I'm going," Cassandra said. She rose, pulled the robe up slightly as she ran, her bare feet blistering in the hot sun. She settled in beside Derrick.

Alisaunne rose. "He's right. We have to keep moving. Besides… he's got the water." She turned to follow Derrick.

Ren grabbed her arm. For a moment… the confusion was back in his eyes. Then they cleared. "Not without me."

Strung out one behind the other, the four immortals trudged slowly through a landscape that from one moment to the next… seemed never to change. Several times Derrick would stop and site the sun again with his watch and alter his heading. Whether he was right or wrong didn't matter to the others. At least it was something.

-----

Dark fell, and with it a cool breeze began. Alisaunne shivered and pulled on her leather coat. Derrick stopped to stare at the stars and continued to fine-tune their heading. He pressed on through the night, seldom stopping. By dawn, the others were exhausted and feared that the new day would bring death from the heat.

Ren grabbed Derrick's arm. "We may be immortal, but if we keep this up… we'll be dead. We have to stop. We have to find water… food… shelter."

"The others don't have these things and they are mortal. There are children with them."

"They could be going another direction! You likely missed them in the night!" Ren yelled.

Derrick glanced up to watch a hawk drifting on the thermals. He closed his eyes and tried to feel Amber. He felt nothing… no sign of her presence. In fact, the only others he felt were the three with him. Derrick sighed, uncertain what to do. If Amber followed the heading, if the GPS function held out, if… if… if…" He shook his head to clear it. He had to believe they were ahead of them. Otherwise… the mortals would die and never be found.

"If we turn aside to find supplies or water… we will lose our way," Derrick finally said and started off once more… following an unseen path across the sand.

The others glanced at one another and continued to follow him.

The sun rose high in the sky. Exposed skin burned, reddened, blistered, turned black, and then healed to a deep tan. Cassandra's feet became calloused and hard. The hot sands under them little more than a momentary notice each time she took another step. The waterbag was nearly empty. The food was gone. Cracked lips surrounded dry mouths and talking became an effort.

And still Derrick led the way.

They'd reached an area of hardpan… where the sands seemed to be packed down and not as shifting as in the dunes. Mirages of water lay about them and shimmers of heat rose in the afternoon. Even closed, their eyes continued to register the white hot of the landscape.

And still they walked.

Alisaunne's leather coat dragged behind her in the sandy soil. Even their swords felt hot to the touch.

Then Derrick stopped. He raised one hand to shield his eyes… uncertain of what he saw or thought he saw. Was it a bird swooping across the white sands? Was it an animal? Then he felt the immortal. He drew the Great Sword and held its hot hilt in both hands. The flickering dark figure stopped… and then slowly approached again. He blinked. This time he could make out her amber-blonde hair. Derrick dropped the sword as she rushed into his arms. He held onto her for dear life.

"You found us!" Amber sobbed into his chest. "I knew you'd come!" Derrick would have sobbed with her had he not been so parched. Instead he clung to her.

Behind him, Cassandra's heart twisted as if a knife had been plunged into it.

-----

They rested in the cooler shadow of some rocks, the first that they'd seen in the desert… perhaps a sign that there was more than simply sand to the landscape.

"It stopped working," Amber said. "And then we ran out of water and food. I fear the children will be the first to die." She unstrapped the huge watch and GPS from her wrist and handed it back to Derrick.

He glanced at Alisaunne distributing the last drops of their water to the children. "I can still find the way." Derrick's voice cracked as he spoke. He was weary beyond words and still a bit surprised that his stubborn effort had led him here. Around him he heard soft sobs and murmured voices.

"Ya know where to go then?" Amber asked. She drew her knees to her chest as she regarded him.

Derrick nodded. "I have a fair idea. Once we're in civilization… once we find people… the others should be safe."

"And ya know whar that is?"

He grinned and moved to pull her to him. She pulled back, flinching a bit as she did so. She glanced around as if worried about their being amongst others. Derrick sighed in resignation, not certain what was going on with her. She'd been glad enough to see him… and then she'd pulled away as if uncomfortable.

They'd have to rest for the remainder of the afternoon. But as soon as the sun started setting, he planned to have the group up and moving on again. The sooner they found a town… the sooner there would be food, water, shelter, and safety. "I'm going to climb to the top and watch for the Egyptian's men," he finally said. It meant being in the harsh sun again… but he would manage it. He turned to climb up the escarpment and found a small hollow at the top where he could lay and still be in a patch of shade. He'd been there perhaps fifteen minutes when he sensed one of the others coming up to join him.

Derrick managed not to let his disappointment show when he turned to see Cassandra squatting down beside him.

"We need to talk," she said.

Derrick turned back to watch the unmoving landscape. "So talk."

"You will still meet him. I have seen the two of you fighting against the desert landscape."

Derrick nodded. "I figured as much."

"He's dangerous."

Derrick chuckled, recalling the hard-fought fight. "I can well believe it."

"You do not take my counsel seriously. You always make light of what I tell you!" she snapped.

"What would you have me do?" he asked as he rolled to his side to regard her. "I know what I am. I know the game exists. But I don't see him as some great evil."

"He raped me! He had me tortured! He _is_ evil!"

"He could have killed all three of you… and didn't," Derrick replied.

"Because he wanted you!"

Derrick thought a moment. "I'd have been angrier and less sure of myself if he'd killed you and I'd seen your heads on poles before his tent. He didn't want that. He wanted to talk."

"He is a monster!" Cassandra brushed her tangled hair from her face. "Listen to me. He must die. The prize cannot go to one such as he."

"You really think there's a prize?" Derrick chuckled. "If there is… I don't think it's what you seem to think it is."

Cassandra put her arms about his neck. "Hold me."

Derrick pulled back slightly. She held on. "I need someone to hold me and wipe away his touch. I need to be cherished. What he did took me back to the woman I was long ago when Methos betrayed me. I don't want to go there again. Help me. Hold me for just a while. Help me find myself again."

Derrick's expression fell and he pulled loose. "I can't. I…" he looked down the escarpment and noticed that Amber was looking up at the two of them. "Cassandra… I care what happens to you… but I don't love you. Not that way. What happened between us was something you forced on me… otherwise it wouldn't have. I know you want what's best for me… but I have to lead my own life and make my own choices."

"Staying with her will mean your death," she replied sadly. "I would prevent that."

Derrick shook his head. "Seeing the future and then trying to prevent it is fruitless. All we can do is face what is to come… what we can't prevent. And live our lives the best we can with whom we want. I appreciate that you think you love me… but you don't. True love goes both ways. I ask you to respect that."

A sob caught in her throat. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "I see what I see," she finally said and then turned and climbed down again.

Derrick let out a great sigh as he lay back on the rock and rubbed his brow. The nearness of the other immortals and the heat were getting to him. He felt dizzy and reality seemed sometimes to be a vision he was having.

Feeling someone approach again, he looked down to see Amber coming up the slope. She sat nearby and stared off into the distance. "He raped us all. I had to watch the others," she finally said.

Derrick let out a moan. He closed his eyes trying to banish the thought. Again he heard the Egyptian whisper, "I raped your woman." He'd thought he meant Cassandra. But he'd taken them all.

"I'd never felt so helpless. Men holding me down and laughing while he forced himself on me… and in such a way as if I were something for him to relieve himself on. Cassandra screamed and fought back. He had her gagged and taken off by his men for further torture. I think he liked her screaming. Ali laughed at him and told him his attentions were nothing compared to another rape she'd endured. But me? I'd never been raped before. Oh… I've always known that I likely was by the Watchers when I was captured and comatose… but I have no memory of that. But this… this was about him having power over us and not considering us as immortals to be fought but something to be used and toyed with."

She was silent a moment. "I need time, Derrick. I need time to deal with this in my own way. I canna be with ya now. If ya need her… take her. She wants and needs somethin' besides what she endured or she may go mad."

Derrick sat up. "I love you. I don't want her. I will wait however long it takes. You did nothing wrong. Cassandra will have to find another way to deal with it. I can't be all things to all of you." He stopped, his comments seeming insincere and by rote… based on things he'd once read as if they were platitudes. He didn't want to wait. What he wanted was to hold her and kiss away her hurt and pain. But he said nothing.

"Well… whatever. I just wanted ya to know why I pull away. I just need some time." She left him then, returning to the shade below where he could see her check on some of the women and children before curling up between some rocks.

He wanted to scream his denial. He wanted to kill the Egyptian, as he'd never truly wanted to kill anyone.

-----

Alisaunne led Ren a bit further down the rocks and away from the others. She spread her coat on the ground and invited him to sit beside her.

Ren sat.

"I want you to make love to me," she asked, never one to mince words or beat around the bush. "I need you to be soft and gentle. It was what Ian used to do when I had nightmares about the rape. The Egyptian was nothing to me. He is forgotten. But the old rape… the one that happened when I was a girl… already those memories stir. If they become too strong… I'm dangerous to be around. I need to know there is gentleness in the world again."

Ren glanced back the way they came. "Are you certain? I mean… people could hear and there are children about."

Alisaunne laughed. "That's why we came away from the rest, silly. Cass and Amber will help. They were raped too. They understand, and they will keep an eye on the children." She offered him a pleading look.

"This isn't exactly a conducive atmosphere for romance," Ren said wryly.

"Don't think of it as romance," Alisaunne laughed. "Think of it as therapy."

He leaned close to her, kissing her gently but firmly. He cupped a hand around her head. She pushed closer, sliding her arms around his waist. The blisters, sunburn, and cuts and bruises had faded… but the deeper scars of their experiences remained. Ren leaned his forehead against hers. "Do I get to lead this time?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Alisaunne replied.

He pushed her lightly to the ground and pulled at her top and bra until her breast fell free. Gently he touched them and then slowly moved his hands to pull away all her clothes until she lay nude in the sun… her form perfection. He removed his own clothes as he gazed at her and then leaned over her. "This might take a while," he teased and began to kiss her over her entire body. Slowly and methodically he made certain to kiss every inch of her.

Alisaunne moaned and begged him to move on and to take her. He smiled and restrained himself as he continued his attentions to her. When he finally finished, he pulled her into his arms and formed his body against hers. "Just relax," he said, noticing that the shadows were lengthening. "Relax and feel me next to you. Feel my heartbeat… feel my breath on you. Make me a memory that you will always have with you."

Alisaunne murmured and moved against him, entangling arms and legs. She felt the warmth of his touch and heard the slow beating of his heart. She took in a deep breath and smelled him. Behind her closed eyes… she sensed others watching in the darkness and heard the drums. She was his… she could be his… even the ancients seemed to agree. At last she slept… and in that sleep, there were no dreams of monsters.

-----


	47. Chapter Forty Four

**Chapter Forty-Four**  
**Paris, France, January 2024:**

Joe Dawson glanced up as his son-in-law opened the doors of the study and stepped through them.

"Madeline, why don't you see if Estelle has a snack for us in the kitchen," he told his father-n-laws' assistant.

Madeline glanced at both men and then withdrew without protest.

"Anything?" Joe asked.

"About MacLeod or Amanda? No. The authorities finally found that plane that went down."

Joe settled back in his chair. He'd heard the news about the plane, but with his concerns about MacLeod, hadn't really given it much thought. "How does that work into our project?"

Burt sat down and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I'm not certain it does. However… there were some reports of at least three known immortals passing through the Rome airport. Early reports seem to indicate they were on that flight.

"Immortal fight and quickening on a plane?" Joe asked. "Damn!"

"No… nothing like that. The plane was found crashed in the sands of Saudi Arabia. It was far outside of the search area. No one's certain how it got there."

"Survivors? Casualties?"

Burt scratched his chin. "Now see… that's where it gets really weird. There were bodies on the plane and outside of it. While a few died in the crash, most were shot… some execution style. But the flight manifest shows there are thirty-seven people missing… mostly women and children.

"Someone led the survivors off into the desert?"

"Surveillance flights are working the area now."

"The immortals… who were they?"

"Among the missing." Burt held out a disk. "Here are the reports. Cassandra, Warren Cochrane, and Kathleen Conroy were the three identified."

Joe took the disk and turned to load the file in his computer. "Anything else?"

"Maybe two others. At least… there were two people seen with them and they appeared to be traveling together. A tall blonde man and a tall black-haired woman."

Joe's hand faltered a moment. Then he opened the file and began to read.

-----

By the time Amy Myers got home, darkness had fallen and she could tell at a glance that something was up.

"So are you two going to share or are you going to just sit there and stare at one another in the dark," she said, closing the study doors behind her. Her words jarred both men who had been deep in thought for some time.

"Oh hi, Hun," Burt said with a touch of chagrin. He rose and, in his easy manner, kissed his wife.

"Don't hi Hun me," she snorted but smiled indulgently at him as she turned on a lamp. "I haven't been a barbarian for years." Her teasing smile and twinkle made him laugh. It was an old joke between them.

"We were reading the reports on that plane crash."

Amy looked from one to the other. "Okay… give. Who was on board?"

"Maybe a couple of immortals," Burt said. "It sure looks that way."

Amy shook her head. "Immortals know better than to fight one another on a plane. Besides… they'd never get their swords past security."

"No swords were found in cargo," Joe said as he continued to ponder the events.

"Well they survived then, retrieved their weapons and left the scene of the accident," Amy explained.

Joe shook his head. "With the survivors in tow? And who shot the male survivors of the plane crash?"

"This doesn't sound like immortal business so much as a hijacking gone wrong. Maybe the immortals were killed and then revived, retrieved their weapons and…"

"And then what?" Burt asked. "Something sounds fishy."

Amy shook her head. "I'm certain we can piece together the truth of what happened once the survivors are found and interviewed."

Joe cleared his throat and met Amy's gaze. He began to say something and then shook his head."

"Dad?"

Joe let out a long breath. "You recall that boy I told you about. The one I took a bullet for."

Amy nodded.

"Derrick Foster is his name. He came to see me a few days ago. He's the new immortal Methos took off across country with last summer to find. Remember the news story?"

Amy nodded again. "You think he was on this plane?"

Joe nodded. "He was in Paris with some others… he didn't say who. That flight from Rome was headed to Athens."

"And?"

Joe scratched his beard. "Methos and Ellie are in Greece."

"Yes… I recall how concerned you were last fall when the _tsunami_ hit." Suddenly Amy's eyes widened. "Oh. You think he and his friends were headed back to Greece." She looked from her father to her husband and back again. "You're worried about this young man… this new immortal."

"Amy it's more than that. Derrick is special… he's different. As far as we know, he's the youngest immortal. He may well be the last."

Amy waved a hand. "We've discussed this before. Immortals stopped being born in 1985 or 1986. This Derrick would be too young to be a new immortal. He was just unknown to us."

"Dammit Amy… he was ten years old in 2003. I met him… I know. He was eighteen eight years later and still mortal. He came to Paris to meet with the dark lady. He didn't say that… but I'm certain that's why he came to town. The dark lady is connected to MacLeod and Methos somehow. He's tall, blonde and still new to the game. That death last summer was his first."

"They match the descriptions of the two people with the three immortals," Burt added. "That means there were five of them on that plane. From what Joe tells me about this young man, he has a habit of wanting to help people… mortals."

Amy turned to pace about the room, slightly. "The dark lady was seen with Warren Cochrane when he was in Paris." She looked up. "This has to be reported."

"No it doesn't!" Joe snapped. "Listen to me Amy… we know there is something going on with the immortals … something that doesn't make a whole lot of sense yet. All I have are bits and pieces. But I have to go to Greece."

"Dad, that's out of the question. You're not in any shape to…"

"Hell! I'm in the best shape I've been in for several years. I don't need a Goddamned baby sitter!" His face turned florid as he slapped one hand derisively down on his wheelchair's arm. "I can still travel and I can still do my job!"

"Dad… you're retired."

"Doesn't mean I can't still do things. Doesn't mean I'm not a part of this. I'm going to Greece! Hell I need a holiday anyway." Gruffly he toggled the wheel chair to high speed and whizzed past them to the doors. He stopped suddenly and then slammed them open before continuing.

"I've been trying to talk him out of it for hours," Burt said. "But he's frustrated and feels trapped on the edge of something. He's a bit put out at them for not calling more often."

"I don't understand why he thinks this Derrick is so important. I met him… he was just a boy… a young man."

"Who was born just after Darius was murdered," Burt continued quietly.

"That doesn't mean a thing. Oh hell we've pondered about this since last summer. I still don't think the boy I met and the man who died last summer are one and the same. It doesn't make sense. The game is winding down… that I can understand. Duncan MacLeod and the others are working to figure out a way to end the killing. That I accept and applaud. Self-genocide has always seemed fruitless to me. What's the purpose of all of them dying just so one of them can have all the power and knowledge? It's never made sense to me."

"Nor me either." Burt added. "I knew Nick Wolfe. He never seemed the type to be a killer… he was an honorable man. Maybe that's why he's dead… he wasn't cut out for this kill or be killed kind of life. I meet these people and they seem like most of us… good and decent folk who then suddenly turn on one another and start beheading their friends and enemies? It's madness. We've had these people in our home. We've trusted them around our children. Joe feels closer to them sometimes than to his own family."

"You're still feeling guilty about involving Mathew McCormick in that trip last fall… when he ended up dead," Amy mused quietly.

Burt let out an audible breath and nodded. "Maybe so. It just all seemed so useless. He had a new wife. He didn't need to go racing after the guy. He shouldn't have died."

"And you still feel guilty. You didn't kill him Burt. You didn't ask him to go after Kingsley. He wanted to go. He judged his chances and the danger and he went. You didn't force him."

"I didn't back him up either when he took off after him. I should have been faster. The guy was good, Amy. I read his file. McCormick was one of the good guys."

"And in the immortal game… the good guys sometimes lose," she said quietly. "It's why we Watch… and record. It's so they will be remembered when the time comes."

"Even your pet project Methos? Even Joe's immortal… Duncan MacLeod?"

Amy nodded. "I'm alive because of Methos. He didn't have to save my life. He did it for Joe… he fought and beat Morgan when all he wanted to do was find someplace quiet and remain invisible. He trusted me with his secret."

"Five thousand years!" Burt rubbed his hands through his dark thinning hair. "Hell I can't even get my mind around it. Never could."

"It's why he's so important… why we were thrilled to get a Watcher in his household in Virginia. All of human history is at stake." She turned suddenly. "Maybe that's why Joe wants to go to Greece. They've been there so long… maybe he wants to check on them. And then there's Ellie… he loved her once. Sometimes I think he still does. Maybe he needs to go… to be certain of what he has here."

Burt shrugged. "He's not a child. Maybe we can send Madeline with him."

Amy shot her husband a pointed glance. "I don't think that's a good idea. No… maybe this is something Joe _has_ to do. Wherever they are… he knows how to find them. Maybe together they can find MacLeod."

"You think that's what he's really worried about?" Burt said innocently.

Amy grinned. "Well you didn't think that your searches through the database had gone unnoticed did you? People tell me things."

"Oh," Burt said quietly. "Remind me not to hide things from my boss."

"Or your wife," she laughed and kissed him. "Now then… dinner and then we make arrangements for Dad to fly to Greece."

"On or off the radar," Burt added.

Amy was silent a moment. "Off the radar. I have to trust him… and I have to trust Methos."

-----

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_, in the Suez Canal:**

The journey had been uneventful and Methos had found himself wishing he were back on the island more than once. Eleanor kept assuring him that J.D. was fine, if a bit distant… and that Phillip would be himself soon.

_Find Derrick!_ she kept saying over and over in his head until it had become a mantra even more insistent than last summer. Perhaps it was just that they weren't as far apart… or perhaps they had finally reached a point where words were unnecessary. He leaned on the railing and stared at the twinkling lights of civilization on the eastern shore of the canal… and wondered if Tyler Burke truly knew where he was leading them.

"Derrick here! We go!" was about all any of them could get out of him.

Burke sometimes seemed about only half here. His wild red hair and red-rimmed blue eyes, combined with his size and booming voice, reminded Methos in some ways of Silas… a gentle giant with a love of carnage who also happened to like small animals. Silas had always seemed a contradiction in terms… an innocent Methos had wanted to protect from the rest of the horsemen… including himself. He sighed. Silas lived in him now… or at least all that was left of him did. His other brothers, Caspian and Kronos, lived in MacLeod. But he doubted they bothered MacLeod nearly as much as Silas sometimes bothered him. Methos chuckled.

He continued to wear his sword openly aboard. He just didn't quite trust some of these immortals… and he hadn't lived so long by trusting others blindly. While they didn't know precisely who he was… he figured they still knew he was a powerful immortal. Most of them reacted with wide eyes when he was near them. Evidently his pounding presence was something new to them.

The immortal _samurai_, Masahiro stepped up to the railing a few feet from him. He too wore his blade, a _katana_. His hands were held behind him and they flexed open and shut as the man observed the coastline and grunted slightly. "We should be there by morning."

Methos nodded. "And one can only hope that Burke is right… that Derrick and the others will be there."

"_Hai!_" Masahiro responded. He was silent for several moments, his expression grim and set. Then he turned to the elder immortal. "I remember you from when I was in my first life."

Methos nodded. "You were a man of honor who showed great promise," Methos agreed.

"You were gone before I died the first time. Was that planned?"

Methos nodded. "I never got involved with young immortals if I could help it. Sometimes I didn't have a choice. In your case… you were a man who already knew how to survive. I decided that the counsel of a _gaijin _when the time came would not be well-received."

Masahiro chuckled deep in his chest. "You might be right. We Japanese have always distrusted the outsider."

"I'm a survivor. I don't take chances. I let people fight their own battles," Methos said with a shrug.

"You seemed a man who had done many things to my unenlightened eyes."

Methos nodded. "You name it… I've done it."

"One must have lived a very long time to do everything," Masahiro chuckled in wry amusement.

Methos made no reply. He didn't like the direction that this conversation was taking.

"From things young Derrick said, I gather you were the brother-in-law who taught him to use that monstrosity he calls a sword," Masahiro continued on.

"My wife feared for his safety as he grew up. She wanted him to know and understand how to survive when…_if_… he died," Methos evaded lightly.

"Yes… he'd already had some intensive training when he came to me. I found him knowledgeable of many things for one of us as yet unaware."

Methos let a small smile tug at his lips. He'd likely taught Derrick far more than most living immortals had any concept of. As with his beloved Aella… he'd wanted them to survive. And they had survived! So far. "As I said… I seldom got involved with pre-immortals. Derrick was an exception."

"I hope those lessons pay off," Masahiro nodded. "Cassandra speaks often of his impending death… as though death were a person seeking him out."

Methos started. His palms felt clammy for a moment as he recalled events of his own youth… and the comments that the ancient potter O ro' dred had made to him once about death seeking him before he came into his potential. Was there an entity out there seeking to destroy those who could alter the game? Methos shuddered a moment, considering that he might once have been the tool of such an entity… death for a thousand years. He closed his eyes as he felt a feather light touch from Eleanor so many miles away. He wondered that they'd ever put up those walls in the first place, so filled with love was it. A stray thought perhaps as she drifted into sleep.

He straightened from the railing and nodded at Masahiro. "I think I'll turn in. I fear tomorrow will be an eventful day."

With that, he pivoted and went below decks to Derrick's cabin where he secured the door and then stretched out on the bunk… not truly relaxing or going to sleep… but resting and aware. In the other cabin he could sense the young lovers, Michelle and David, and still on deck… the other three immortals: Wingate in the pilothouse, Masahiro where he'd left him, and Burke pacing on the stern. No… Methos wouldn't sleep… but he would rest. He curled his mind about Eleanor's in her sleep and relaxed.

-----


	48. Chapter Forty Five

**Chapter Forty-Five**

**Somewhere in the desert:**

When darkness had fallen, Derrick moved them out, leading the way across the silvered landscape. The moon was waning now, but on a clear night… it still shone bright enough to make the white sands gleam and sparkle like ice and snow. A clear night also meant that it was colder. The coats too often dropped in the heat of day were missed in the cool of night.

Westward he led them… noting that the immortals often carried the children whose mothers stumbled blindly along. Derrick worried about losing them. He worried about pursuit. He worried that he should change direction and find them food… water… shelter. But to turn aside might be to lose his heading… although even that he wondered about. Pausing on a slight rise of sand to gaze at the unbroken landscape of glistening silver before him, Derrick second-guessed everything that had happened since the hijackers had made their move aboard the plane.

"What should I have done?" he murmured. "What other path could I have taken?" He closed his eyes and turned inward… letting the half-remembered Latin prayers of centuries past rise to the surface of his thoughts. He dropped to his knees and prayed for guidance… for a sign that he was doing the right thing… for help.

"Derrick… do ya see it?" Amber's voice filled with wonder and he felt the touch of her hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, his gaze then following the direction that she pointed. A soft glow on the horizon… a glow that was man-made and not natural… feebly shone.

He sobbed a moment and gave silent thanks before rising. He hadn't seen it… he'd been too preoccupied with his own guilt. "Midday perhaps if we keep moving. Maybe sooner if we're seen… if there's a road."

The news traveled among the weary travelers. Most found new strength in the sight and strode ahead of the immortals… almost running toward that faint glow on the horizon.

Derrick picked up one of the children and followed. He'd wanted a sign… and he'd been given one. But was it the one he needed… the one they needed?

The sun rose… pummeling then with waves of heat and the dash toward the point on the horizon slowed to a trickle… and then to a stop. The women looked around them dully… as if seeking answers or help. Derrick took a new sighting and then shook his head. "We should be there by now… or at least we should be reaching a road or an end to the sand… or something."

As if in answer to a prayer… they heard the loud sound of a ship's horn. Cautiously they climbed one more dune and stood staring at a thin strip of road lined with date palms… and a body of seawater just beyond the road. An oil tanker was making its way through the water. Along the shore was a small grouping of mud daub houses common to this area. It wasn't a city… it wasn't a village… it was little more than a compound. Still… it was civilization and that was what they'd been seeking.

The women wearily scooped their children into their arms and plunged down the dune. The immortals watched them go, uncertain if they should accompany them.

Gavin Mulrooney, his daughter in his arms, stopped for a moment and stared at them. "Aren't you coming?"

"Maybe it's better for all of you if we died in the desert," Ren explained. "Too many questions."

Gavin stared at them for several moments. "Right. You five might not be hijackers… but you're not exactly the kind of people who want world-wide attention on them either." He nodded in understanding. "I'll pass the word to the others. Thank you… Thank you all." He gave them a nod and turned to follow the other mortals toward the small village.

"So what _do_ we do now?" Cassandra asked.

"If it were a city or even a small town… we could get lost amidst the population. No… we have to find someplace where we can catch a ride up the canal," Derrick said wearily. He felt drained of energy. At least the mortals would be safe. Surely there were people… authorities… looking for them.

Amber took his arm and led him down the dune as they followed Ren's lead to the north along the heights of the dune. Derrick still worried about their being too visible along the road. They needed to quietly get out of this country with as little fanfare as possible. But he was too tired to think clearly. He stumbled along as if now that he'd managed to lead them out of the wilderness… he was content to simply follow where fate and destiny led him.

-----

The road led them to the small port town of Dubā… a town of about twenty thousand people. Nestled in a sparse strip of green pastureland that followed the coastline, the town looked to be the type they were looking for. It was large enough for them to pass unnoticed in the crowds… and it had a harbor.

Before descending from the heights overlooking the town, they returned their swords to the Persian rug and dashed the remaining firearms against rocks and tossed the pieces, hoping to become lost amidst the people… some in Western dress who moved on foot or bicycle through the twisting streets. It was market day evidently, and the town was crowded. Amber's blonde hair, however, caused several people to give her a second if not a third glance.

"Wait here," Derrick said suddenly; realizing that if he didn't hide their faces, hair and clothing, the wrong people would take notice of their group and things could be a lot worse. "I have an idea," he said wearily. He adjusted his robes and veil and strode out into the bazaar. He wandered for several moments before approaching a clothing merchant. He pulled out one of the jeweled knives he'd taken from the Egyptian's tent, and haggled with the merchant. Eventually the deal was struck and he collected a handful of change and an armload of loose desert clothing for the others.

Returning to the alley, Derrick handed the clothing off to Alisaunne. "Get them dressed… I'll buy some food." Next, he handed off the rug filled with the swords to Amber and the waterbag to Cassandra before threading his way through the crowds once more to find and buy some food.

In a narrow alley… blazing white in the afternoon sun, they covered themselves with the loose-fitting garments and ate hungrily. They refilled the waterbag at a public fountain and slaked their thirst. Then they moved out into the streets in the general direction of the Red Sea. Their parched skin could feel the moisture in the air and they could taste the salt on their tongues as they breathed it in. It tantalized them, appearing to be so close and yet still so far away.

Suitably covered, and once more armed, they stepped out into the streets once more among the locals. The immortals moved swiftly along the thoroughfares, seeking always to find the way to the ocean. The sun was straight overhead by the time the sounds of the _mullahs_ calling the faithful to prayer could be heard even over the dwindling blare of horns and traffic in the streets.

"Do we need to stop as well?" Amber asked as she noticed that most of those dressed as they were had stopped at mosques to pray.

"Best to keep moving anyway," Ren said, looking around. "I thought I felt someone a while ago. I don't think any of us are in any shape to meet anyone in combat right now." His face bore a grim expression.

The others nodded in agreement, closing ranks as they reached some twisting alleyways that offered a shortcut to the harbor. A few people stared at them as they passed. Clearly they were still managing to gather unwarranted attention.

As they turned onto one street, windows on the upper levels slammed shut.

"Now what brought that on?" Amber asked, looking about. Ahead of them… a group of men stood in their path… and beyond them… they could just see a thin line of turquoise water.

As they came closer to the men, the men spat at the street but then faded away into the shadows and buildings until the five immortals found themselves alone on the narrow and twisting street.

"I don't like this," Alisaunne murmured. "It's as if they know who we are… what we are."

Ren paused and pointed to a single man who entered the street and then turned to face them. His immortality jangled all their senses. Dressed in flowing black robes he uncovered his face and pointed his scimitar at Derrick. It was the Egyptian.

-----

"You have caused me a great deal of trouble, my young friend," the Egyptian said to Derrick. "And… you left me in dire straights when you fled my camp and hospitality. But I have lived over a thousand years… and my men do not question my authority more than once if they wish to live. I knew you would come here. It was the closest town. I have been waiting for you. We finish this here, and now." Almost ceremonially the Egyptian lifted his other hand to motion Derrick forward.

"No!" screamed Cassandra. She stepped in front of Derrick even as Amber and Alisaunne moved to his left and his right. All three women drew their swords.

"My challenge is not to any of you lovely ladies," the Egyptian laughed. "You are free to go with my compliments. I have finished with you."

"Like hell," hissed Amber. Her blue eyes flashed even as both Cassandra and Alisaunne agreed. The three jostled a moment for position around Derrick.

"We challenge you!" Alisaunne said quietly but with determination. "You have to fight each of us first."

"You had us at a slight disadvantage before," Amber added angrily. She gestured with her cutlass. "We've remedied that."

"We have a prior claim on you," Cassandra added bitterly. She shuddered, as she spoke… so angry was she.

Derrick pushed Cassandra gently to one side and stepped forward. While he sensed the Egyptian was angry… curiously he still saw no danger to himself… only to those around him. If he didn't get them out of here… the Egyptian would manage to have them all killed. All he had to do was call his men forward into the alley. "I have your word? The four of them can leave… go down to the shore? Their safety is assured until they can book passage?"

"Of course." The Egyptian bowed with a predatory smile.

"Then when they are gone… I will face you," Derrick said without enthusiasm. He turned to Ren. "Get them out of here."

"I'm not leavin' ya!" Amber protested. "Ya'r not yarself."

"Nor am I," Alisaunne added.

"Derrick… you cannot do this," Cassandra begged.

Derrick shook his head. "I have to finish this. Now go… all of you." His blue eyes met the Egyptian's black ones and the two men nodded in understanding. The fight was theirs. Then Derrick turned back to Ren'. "Get them out of here. I don't want anyone else to die. Too many have died as it is."

Ren looked from one man to the other. Then he looked at the determined faces of the women. None of them were leaving. He moved to stand beside Alisaunne. "We're in this together… we finish this together." He drew his sword and faced the Egyptian as well. "Best be on your way now. Kill any one of us and the others will take your head before the quickening ever reaches you."

"You would ignore the rules?" the Egyptian laughed.

"We would honor them if you were a man of honor," Cassandra spit at him. "But you are a dog and not worthy of respect."

The Egyptian's eyes flashed at her. "And you are a whore."

_Lower your sword and stand aside!_ Cassandra said with all the power of her voice at her command.

The Egyptian opened his mouth for another retort and then his eyes glazed over a bit. He stared at his scimitar numbly and then lowered it. He shook his head as if to clear it.

_Stand aside_, she ordered him.

He looked up at her and something seemed to go out of him. He began to move to one side. It was working… it was actually working. He would move to one side and they would escape without a fight. Cassandra grinned as her power… her gifts… overcame the other. He was nothing compared to what she could do. Derrick would see her in a new light_. I can show him how I can protect him_, she thought. She stood straighter, her sword still held before her as she motioned behind her for the others to begin to move off. _You will stand aside and let us pass_.

The Egyptian focused on Cassandra. Amber and Alisaunne pulled and pushed at Derrick to get him to leave. Ren took up a position next to Cassandra to cover their retreat. The atmosphere of the alley was charged with tension… and all feared that any sudden movement would bring the Egyptian's men out again from hiding. This was neither the time… nor the place for battle.

It was at that moment that Tyler Burke came bursting up the street and launched himself in a flying leap onto the Egyptian with an angry howl! He bore their enemy to the ground and began pummeling him about his head. In retaliation, the Egyptian began to desperately slice at Burke's back and arms with his scimitar. From the shadows his men began to emerge.

"Nooooo!" yelled Derrick, as he shook off Alisaunne and Amber and then tried to force his way through Cassandra and Ren to get to Burke. They restrained him while Amber pulled him back.

Methos' thundering presence hit all of them next as he followed Burke into the square. He took a fast look around. "Get Derrick out of here!" he yelled as he closed in on the fight, drawing his broadsword as he faced the Egyptian's approaching men.

Amber half-pushed and half-pulled Derrick along with her. "Come on now me boyo. Move it!"

Derrick shook his head and tried once more to pull loose as the two men rolled on the street. "I have to stop that!" he insisted.

Alisaunne stepped to Methos' side. "Got your back," she said grimly. "Same as with Derrick. This piece of shit doesn't get away." When he saw the determination in his daughter's eyes… Methos didn't argue. Behind her… Ren and Amber continued to force Derrick down the street; they focused on placing themselves between Derrick and the Egyptian's men. Cassandra stood looking from the fight to Derrick and back again.

Moments later, Masahiro, Wingate and Keogh joined them. Masahiro moved to protect Derrick while Wingate and Keogh moved to stand with Methos in front of the crowd of men. Wingate kept calling Burke's name… but evidently the big man didn't hear him… or didn't want to hear him.

Burke's hands gripped the Egyptian's neck… squeezing the life out of the older immortal as blood welled up on his arms and back from the slices' slow-healing cuts… but his attack was working. The Egyptian managed a trilling cry that pierced the alley's recesses. His men brought their firearms to bear on the immortals.

Cassandra whirled to face the men. _Lower your weapons. Stand down!_ Never had she tried to control so many. _Give me strength_, she prayed silently to the memory of Lilith who'd first taught her how to pitch her voice to control the minds of men.

The men looked at one another in confusion. Some shook their heads while others tossed their weapons to the street.

_Listen to me_, Cassandra continued, more softly now… almost beguiling. _Go to your homes and families. Leave this place or face death._

A small grim smile crossed Methos' face at those words.

Burke snarled angrily at the Egyptian as he grasped the immortal's unconscious head and began to beat it against the pavement… finally cracking it open like an over-ripe melon. Blood and brains spilled out. As they did, Burke raised his bloody hands before his eyes and let out a wordless cry of horror. He sat back and the cry rose to the heavens. For a moment… no one moved.

"He needs me," Derrick insisted to Amber as he tried to get to Burke.

"No," Amber ordered and pushed him on ahead of her. "Ren!" she said. "Help me." The Scotsman nodded and reached out for Derrick's arm.

Wingate backed up. "Burke… It's all right Burke. Come on big guy… stand up and back away."

_Go home_, murmured Cassandra again to the horrified men. _Forget what you have seen here. Go home and sleep._

The men slowly began to drift away. All the immortals let out a great sigh of relief and Wingate bent over Burke. "He'll be fine. He's immortal. Let's go Big Guy." The others turned to leave when Methos staggered. His face turned white beneath his tan… his eyes widened in horror. "Nestor!" he screamed and raced toward the waiting launch.

-----


	49. Chapter Forty Six

**Chapter Forty-Six**

**Niebos, the night before:**

Through the darkness of the island, Sarah Manning sped quickly to the deserted cove on the far side. The water already covered the beach… but that didn't bother her. It was the water she wanted. She shivered in its icy feel as she floated out towards the bay. As before… tendrils colder than ice wrapped about her legs… higher and higher they rose until they'd entered her with a piecing suddenness that made her gasp. As before, she sank below the surface as if drawn to that icy touch which made her feel more alive than she ever had. Again and again they darted into her with increasing force until her very mind seemed to fade to black. She gasped as she released the last bubble of air in her lungs and floated in a blackness tinged in red. Sarah throbbed in expectation.

Razor-sharp teeth came out of the darkness and bit into her soft flesh. Sarah shivered in ecstasy as the teeth consumed her. Then came the voice… slithering over what remained like a serpent. "_Yessss…_" it said. "_Ssssso perfect. Ssso sssoft and deliccccciousss. You will do nicccccely_."

Her feet touched the sand and her eyes opened. She stood in a landscape of night and fire. Molten lava spewed from the earth and consumed all life around her. Sarah laughed at the sight and clapped her hands. Turning… she saw a dark figure of shadow watching her. His eyes were like living flame.

Sarah dropped to the ground and spread her legs in invitation. "Take me master," she begged. "I have been prepared for you."

The figure laughed. "What will you do for me?"

"Whatever you want. I long to feel you within me."

"Are you so certain? Older and wiser immortals have fought me for millennia… refusing my touch."

"They are fools," she replied, even as she lay back and arched her back… her hands stretched longingly out to him as her hips gyrated.

"Be warned… I am death to immortals."

"And I will be your handmaiden."

Darkness covered her then… filling her eyes, her nose, her mouth, and her ears. Cold fire raced along every nerve and then she felt him between her legs and screamed in pain, as his very size seemed to rip her apart, even as it thrust into her. The fire mingled with the ice deep within her and she was battered up and down like a rag-doll in the throes of its mighty power.

-----

Sarah awoke prone on the sand, the waves lapping around her. She shivered in the night air and wondered about the dark figure of her dreams. Rising, she limped wearily toward the cliff-face. She tasted blood in her mouth and spit at the sand. Every muscle of her body ached as if she'd been tortured again by Kingsley. She collapsed on the bottom stone step, noting her bloody trail over the wet sand. In the pale light of the moon she could see dark bloody streaks on her thighs.

"Ice, fire and darkness," she gasped and lay back against the cliff trying to clear her thoughts. "What have we wrought? What have I done?" Within her she felt another heartbeat… stronger than her own… possessing and devouring her body. It was then that she noted that her normally flat abdomen bulged and rippled as something moved, and fed and grew within her. Sarah Manning screamed long into the night.

-----

At dawn he rose still bloody from the pitiful remnants of his mother's body. He licked his teeth where he'd torn his way free of her… eating his way out. His red eyes narrowed as he looked around and then he cackled maniacally. It was good to be back! He would destroy this place and all who dwelled here for the indignities he had suffered at their hands in his previous life. Once more… his darkness was reborn into the world… and his dark father had another foothold by which he could destroy this earth and all life on it.

But first… he was hungry. He nudged his mother's corpse with one bloodied foot. No… she wouldn't do. He wanted something living and vibrant. He wanted to feel their horror as he devoured them piece-by-piece. Something young, perhaps… something young and tasty.

He turned and began to lope his way along the beach path to the other side of the island. Behind him… Sarah Manning's corpse began to disintegrate and fall to dust.

-----

Weary from overnight duty at the hospital, Greg Powers rubbed a hand through his tangled hair and blinked at the pale shafts of the red dawn entering the windows of the doctors' lounge. For some reason, the glow of the dawn bothered him. He sat up, tossing the blanket he'd covered himself with, aside and held his head in his hands. He'd had strange dreams.

Truthfully, he'd felt bad since beginning the affair with Sarah Manning. Yesterday he'd awakened drained as if she'd fed on him somehow. His mind kept hearing her voice in his head pleading with him to save her.

Greg shook his head, slapped his thighs and rose. Yesterday had been a long, uneasy day and then he'd had duty. He was just tired… that was all. He rose and stretched out the kinks of sleeping in an uncomfortable position and then fumbled for his stethoscope as he left the lounge to double-check the patients. He hadn't eaten yesterday either… he'd tried, but food had not seemed appetizing to him. Everything had tasted sour and bitter. Even water had turned his stomach.

"Remind me not to drink so much," he grumbled to himself. Evidently his hangover from the drinking binge a few nights ago had decided to plague him a while… longer than normal… especially for an immortal. Greg pulled the charts of the dozen patients and glanced over the overnight vitals before he began his rounds.

Satisfied that nothing had happened overnight, he grabbed a cup of strong, bitter coffee from the machine at the nurses station, flashed the overnight charge nurse a thin smile and began to make his rounds.

As he checked on patients, his stomach still churning, he thought about Sarah and they way she made him feel. He didn't love her… but she was an amazing creature in bed. She knew moves and techniques that he… in nearly a thousand years had never experienced… and he thought he'd experienced everything. He hadn't seen her much yesterday and had wondered what she was up to. On the other hand, she'd drained him of energy so thoroughly he doubted he could have managed a third night with her. He eyed the drug cabinet as he passed it and shook his head. It would take too many stimulants to work on his system and someone would notice how much was missing. He also recalled how out of control he'd once been.

No… he was better off just working his way through how he felt today. Maybe when he got back to the villa after Eleanor relieved him, he'd take a long nap.

Something jarred his thoughts as Eleanor crossed his mind and a dark thought rose unbidden. "_She hates me… she'll kill me_." Greg shook his head. "Surely not," he told himself. But the thought took root in his psyche and grew in the darkness of his soul.

He finished shortly before Eleanor showed up; after they went over charts he headed back to the villa. He wondered idly where Sarah was, and why he hadn't seen her since sometime yesterday afternoon.

-----

Having spent a restful night in Phillip's room, Eleanor had checked in on J.D. in her room and then on Marianna in the girls' room. Both children were still asleep and the dawn had just been breaking.

Following his outing yesterday, J.D. had wanted dinner in bed and then had seemed uncomfortable when she'd started making up the chaise lounge to sleep in. She'd blown him a kiss and left him alone. Phillip was still on the far side of the island so she might as well give J.D. some privacy. He was too old to have his mother hovering over him. Likely he'd be back to sleeping in the boys' room tonight.

She'd felt carried away on gentle waves as she'd fallen asleep dreaming of Methos. When she'd awakened, this morning, she could taste him on her lips and smell him beside her. Things between them were so much better now that they'd both opened up and shared their fears and thoughts once more.

At the hospital, she'd noted Greg's haggard look. He was pale and his eyes seemed lost in dark circles. "You might want to take the day off. You may be spending too much time with Hope," she'd said lightly.

He'd glared at her but any retort he might have made was choked off. "Yeah… I need a good night's sleep," he'd mumbled before he'd left. She hoped he got it and settled in to face the day patients.

For the most part, the early ones were people who were being seen on a regular basis at the hospital as outpatients… checking in about the normal aches and pains of mortal life. Eleanor listened to them intently, gave advice, altered prescriptions if necessary and sent them on their way. The morning seemed to be speeding by when she heard the church bells in the village ring. Worried, she rose and stepped outside, curious as to why they were ringing this time of day.

From the hospital, she could see a crowd congregating outside the church and could hear angry and frightened voices. She turned to the nurses and indicated she would be right back as she started down the path.

Screams and sobs peppered the voices as she drew closer. Nervously she pushed through the crowd.

"They vanished right out of the crib," a man was saying. "My wife found blood in the crib and on the window sill. Some animal has taken my children!"

Beside him sat a young woman, sobbing into a small bloody blanket.

Eleanor felt a hand on her arm and looked up into the face of Nikos Alexandros, the former constable of the village. He gestured silently for her to follow him and led her around the side of the church.

"Where is the _patrone_?"

"On the far side of the island. He wanted a few days peace and quiet."

Nikos looked around. "Find him and tell him that Nikos thinks the monster is loose."

Eleanor shook her head. "That's not possible Nikos."

"I have a long memory as do many here. It will occur to the rest of them soon enough. The monster that eats our children is back."

Could he be right? Had Phillip continued to check on Valeraine these past few days? A cloud blew across the face of the sun and Eleanor shivered. "I shall get word to him at once," she assured the man and immediately climbed the hill to the villa at a fast jog. She could even feel Methos' growing worry. She hesitated to tell him or explain as he could do nothing… but the word was out before she could stop it. _Nestor!_

She raced into Phillip's study, opened the safe and withdrew her sword.

"What's the matter?" John asked as he peeked in and saw her securing it about her waist.

"Tell Grace to keep all the children here at the house, no matter how they complain." Then she tossed a sword to him. John caught it easily but gave her a strange look as she pulled out Phillip's sword as well and turned from the safe, leaving it open. "Get everyone armed."

"Why?"

"Someone or something kidnapped two infants during the night leaving behind a trail of blood. I'm off to find Phillip."

"You think Nestor is loose?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I don't know what to think… but it's best to be prepared. Get everyone up and secure the children. No one goes off alone."

"What about you?"

"I have to get Phillip!"

"Let someone come with you. No one should be alone, that includes you."

Eleanor paused and nodded. "Fine… just hurry." A few moments later a bleary-eyed Greg popped his head in. He soberly took his rapier and moments later the two of them started off across the island.

"So much for a good day's sleep," Greg yawned as they climbed to the hump in the trail that then led in several directions.

"No rest for the weary evidently," Eleanor retorted. Her laughter felt brittle… nervous… more to ease tension than anything she truly felt at the moment. She wished she'd taken the time to see for herself that the children were still inside the villa… that they were safe. Well… no help for it now. She climbed faster. In her mind she sensed Methos' urgency to return and his frustration at being so far away.

-----

Phillip cast the net into the waters of the small bay and pulled the net tight… feeling the tug and draw of the fish he'd caught. He'd forgotten the pleasure of the old ways all too often in this modern age. He was a man of his time… and the passing of time had cut him off from his past. He still recalled the first time he'd fished in this manner. He'd still been a youth on this island and he'd wanted to do something useful.

"What can you do?" Danäe had laughed.

"Truly, my Lady. I do not know," he'd replied humbly.

"Feed my children?" she'd teased.

"If thou wish it… I will."

So he'd been assigned to Demetrius… the fisherman whose small hut had once stood where the current farmhouse did. The old man was half-crippled from an accident and his days of fishing from one of the small boats in the fleet were long past. Instead, he'd thrown the net out into the bay and pulled it in… brimming with fish. He'd taught Phillip how to read the signs of water and wave to know where to throw his net. Phillip had never forgot.

Since he'd "officially" purchased the island some two hundred years ago, he'd tried to keep her request in his mind here. "Feed my children?" she'd asked not of the boy… but of the immortal man he'd become.

Hearing his name from ashore, he glanced up to see Eleanor and Greg arrive on the beach. And… they were armed.

Phillip released his catch back into the waters and rolled the net over his burly arm as he strode ashore, the net over one arm… the trident held in the other… looking for all the world like some artist's representation of Poseidon himself.

"What's happened?" he asked as he splashed ashore, seawater dripping in runnels around him.

"When was the last time you were at the cove?" Eleanor began breathlessly.

"Yesterday? No… the day before," the Greek replied. He shot a puzzled glance at Greg and then continued. "After our talk… I thought it best to take the evening off."

"Nestor may have freed himself somehow," she continued and then told him about the missing children and the signs of blood.

Phillip placed net and trident on the rocky shore as he took his shortsword and girded his waist. "I don't see how… but I'll check."

"No," Greg replied. "We'll check."

Again Phillip looked at the immortal. Valeraine's actual location had remained a secret from most of the other immortals. Finally he nodded. If Eleanor were right… then he'd welcome the young man's help. "Come along then," he replied as he led the way back across the island.

-----

As soon as the three immortals were out of sight, he rose unseen from the tall grass and moved down to the shore where his shadow fell across the net and trident. "How perfectly appropriate," he sniggered and picked them up. After a few practice throws of the net and a few stabs of the trident… he'd mastered using them. They were old weapons… and in one life he'd used something similar in the gladiatorial combat of the Roman coliseum. He could still hear the cries of the bloodthirsty crowd as he killed opponent after opponent. Life had been good then. As a reward he was given virginal young women and boys to slake his thirst. He'd had no fear of dying in the arena… after all… one cannot kill what was never truly living.

These discarded implements would prove useful indeed. With a dark laugh that sent even the nesting birds flying in fear, he moved across the sand. Now that he'd eaten… he had plans to make. Perhaps he needed a woman or a boy to rape. It didn't matter which he found first. His reign of terror was ready to commence once more.

-----


	50. Chapter Forty Seven

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

**In flight over Southeast Asia:**

The flight over China and into Hanoi was uneventful. By the time the immortals had landed for re-fueling in the Vietnamese city, Reagan had organized their paperwork. To be on the safe side, no one left the plane except her. Duncan paced up and down the plane's cabin like a caged animal. He had the strangest worry that he would be too late… that he'd never arrive in time… that events were spiraling out of control.

But Reagan was back within twenty minutes and the plane was fueled in another thirty. They'd easily been cleared for immediate takeoff.

"Tell me again why we are flying to Mandalay," Steven Keane asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt after they were in the air. "What is so all-fired important there?"

Duncan glanced at Amanda who shrugged. _Your choice_, she said mentally. She would support and follow his lead. This was something only he could decide about telling anyone. Just as their bonding was a secret… so too was the child Kate was carrying.

"There's someone I've been looking for… someone I have to find," he finally said hesitantly. "One of us who could be in a lot of trouble."

"So you're not hunting," Keane continued.

"Not at the moment," Duncan replied with a glare.

Reagan rose and paced between the two men. She noted Amanda's tight-lipped expression and Kiem Sun's mysterious smile. "Okay… you said Mandalay… what then?"

Duncan continued to glare at Keane. "Just get me there… then all of you can fly to the moon for all I care."

"Excuse me?" Reagan turned on him. "I bust my chops twice to get you out of messes that normally you'd never have been in. This isn't like you MacLeod. You were never so mysterious around me. You act as if all we've done to help you is nothing. I've gone out on a limb for you by using my contacts not to mention putting the corporate plane at your disposal."

"I didn't ask for the help," Duncan seethed… his eyes glaring at her.

"Stop it both of you!" Amanda suddenly said as she rose and stood between them. "Duncan… Tell her what happened." She winked at Duncan and then turned to Reagan. "Or maybe I will."

"Amanda," he warned.

"He's helping me locate a crystal like Rebecca's. You've heard of the Methuselah Stone? Well I came into possession recently of information about a second one."

"Other than the one he used on Vrej?" Reagan mused suspiciously.

"That one?" Amanda laughed nervously. "No… that one contains the clue about where we go. Now obviously… we don't want too many around as we aren't quite certain what it does." Amanda's lip quivered and a tear formed in one eye. "Rebecca meant the world to me. While finding one won't bring her back… it might be a way that I can honor her memory by doing what she did… divide the crystal and give it to students. Duncan's just being a Boy Scout and helping me with my self-improvement program. I'm desperately trying to stop being the center of my world."

Reagan and Steven looked at her aghast and then rolled their eyes. Kiem Sun grinned and silently chuckled.

"Well it's true… I'm really trying to be a better person," Amanda insisted.

Behind her Duncan undid his seatbelt with a laugh, rose and kissed her brow. "Never mind Amanda. It was an interesting story right up until the end." He turned to the others. "I'm looking for a former lover who has run off with an immortal who may or may not have her best interests at heart." He shrugged at Reagan. "I want to be certain she's all right. I care about her even though we've both moved on with our lives."

Reagan smiled at him warmly. "Now was that so hard? You have always cared about all of us and been there to help. This is no different."

Duncan shrugged. "Well… I don't want to show up on their doorstep with an entourage."

"No," Regan nodded. "That might not look so good. So what's the plan?"

Duncan shook his head. "It depends on what I find." He noticed Sun's wide and knowing smile and looked quickly away from him, refusing to meet the Oriental's gaze. "If she's fine… I go home to Florence with Amanda. If she's not… I may need to stay awhile or take her someplace where she'll be safe. She's not a fighter… not really. Not like you or Amanda."

Steven snorted. "Now let me get this straight… you want to protect one of us who by all accounts is not one who can protect herself?" He chuckled. "I begin to see why you didn't kill Ratavoussian. You don't want anyone to die… do you?"

"Not if I can help it. If too many show up where I think this couple is now… someone might die." Duncan looked again at Reagan. "Maybe the thing to do is after we land… Amanda and I will leave the plane and you can continue on to wherever you like. I apologize for the way I stated that earlier."

Reclaiming her seat, Reagan sighed. Where did she want to go? She glanced at Kiem Sun and Steven. Could she take them to Niebos? Should she? Inwardly she shook her head. No… not without talking to Phillip first. She'd meant to contact him weeks ago but had forgotten. She looked up… "Well we can continue west until we reach Europe. I really need to get the plane back to one of our corporate locations and then explain why I used it. If either of you want to leave beforehand… you can."

Kiem Sun sat back in his seat. "I own some property in Burma. I had thought to go there. I can get off with MacLeod and Amanda and then head south to Rangoon on my own." He noticed Duncan shoot him a suspicious glance… but he replied with a bow of his head. "It would save going on and then coming back."

Steven sat up straighter. "Hey… I thought we were in this together. Where you go… I go."

"You have business interests in several places Steven. Where I need to go you might not. I didn't want to force you into just going along for the ride."

Steven smiled at the term 'ride'. "Ah… but what a ride."

Reagan blushed, nervously pushing a lock of hair behind one ear. If Sun left the plane at Mandalay with MacLeod and Amanda… the two of them could talk this out. Already Reagan feared that Steven wanted more from this assignation than she did. "We'll see," she murmured without commitment.

The five immortals were all sitting again by this time… and looking or not looking at one another. For a while, the only sounds were those of the plane's engines.

-----

Duncan and Amanda watched from the edge of the tarmac as Reagan Cole's private plane rose into the wind and vanished into the skies.

"I felt badly for lying to them," Amanda said softly.

Duncan smiled. "No you didn't. You just feel badly that they saw through your lies."

"I wasn't lying!" she hmmphed.

Behind them Kiem Sun chuckled. Duncan turned to glare at him. "All right… we're alone now. So why are you here?"

Sun shrugged, his grin still wide. "I will stay out of your way MacLeod… but I am curious about what you saw in the crystal and what it is you hope to find. Besides… you might have need of me whether you know it or not."

"Just don't get in my way," Duncan growled as he pushed past him.

"Burma is a good size country," Kiem Sun said. "I have been here many times. Perhaps I can help narrow your search."

Duncan paused. "Do you know where Craille might have property here?"

"He said something to me about this being the land of a million Buddhas. Perhaps his home is near the Po Win Daung caves in the Lake Inlay region near Mandalay. It is, at least, a place to start."

Duncan drew in a deep breath and held it. "I need a map."

"Well let's find one at the local **_Triple A_**," Amanda suggested as she breezily passed between the two.

"I doubt they have **_Triple A_** here," Duncan said with a smile as he followed her. As always… she made him smile.

_I heard that_, she thought back at him.

Duncan chuckled.

-----

**Niebos:**

Having spent several days inside recuperating, J.D. had been looking forward to getting out on his own. Now he found himself cooped up with Chou, Denis and Kenny… all three of whom had small swords and looked entirely too serious. Unlike yesterday when they'd laughed so at him and his response to seeing the naked biker immortal, they looked positively glum and whispered to one another in languages that J.D. didn't know. Sometimes they glanced at him and they looked worried.

"So what is going on?" J.D. asked them.

Denis finally, after glancing at the other two who gave curt nods, began to explain. "There was a really bad immortal. He killed several people we cared about. Phillip had him locked up somewhere so he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. Your mom thinks he's loose again."

J.D. shrugged. "Why doesn't someone just take his head? Isn't that what Phillip did last fall to that bad one who came to the island?"

"This one is worse. No one dares to kill him… or they lose who they are."

J.D. shook his head. "I don't understand."

Just then Micah and the girls arrived. "Grace thought it best if we were all in here together," the older boy explained. Hope was in Madrigal's arms, cooing and laughing.

"Must be serious if Grace even wants the baby in here," J.D. replied sullenly.

"What have you told him?" Micah shot the question to Denis.

"Just that a bad one might be about."

Micah regarded J.D. carefully. "How much do you really know?"

"I know that sometimes there are bad immortals that challenge the others to combat." J.D. glanced at Marianna who seemed much more interested in baby Hope. She kept holding up her crystal ball and trying to get Hope to look into it. He gestured toward her with his head. Likely his mother would not want there to be too much conversation about this in front of Marianna. Even though he wanted to know more… he also wanted to protect his little sister.

The boys withdrew to near the window and closed ranks, eyeing the girls. Denara and Madrigal looked over at them several times as if they too wanted in on the conversation.

Micah cleared his throat as he spoke quietly. "You know that immortals fight and kill one another."

"Well not usually," J.D. protested. "Only the really bad ones."

Micah glanced at the others. "Well… sometimes there are some who just try to kill the weak… like us."

J.D.'s brow wrinkled as he tried to think that through. "That doesn't make sense. Why?"

"They just don't think we should be allowed to exist."

J.D. leaned against the wall and looked at his friends and then over at the girls. He didn't like this thought one bit! If his parents had taught him anything it was to accept the right of others to live. He had never really considered that immortals might die until that business last fall between Phillip and that other immortal. He sighed as he recalled how upset and worried everyone was when Phillip left to meet the other one with his sword. "It's just something we do," Denis had whispered at the time. Sure… grown-ups… protecting the others from someone bad… that's what this was about too… but there seemed to be something else going on. J.D. wished that his dad were here. But he wasn't. He was always gone when important things happened and J.D. had questions.

Glancing at Kenny who seemed oddly satisfied to have a small sword in his hands, J.D. further worried. He kept looking at it and at the others. J.D. had a bad feeling about the way Kenny looked at the others, but he made no hostile moves and seemed to be satisfied to just polish and oil the sword they'd given him. But J.D. didn't like the almost predatory grin on Kenny's face. There was something about it that made his skin crawl.

On the far side of the room, Madrigal grinned as she held baby Hope. This child was something special… as were Marianna and J.D., and she'd been entrusted with caring for the baby in the face of danger. She would fight and die to protect this little one from Nestor if he truly was back. Madrigal hoped he wasn't… that it was just the others being careful. Besides… how bad could it be?

-----

John finished checking the house and securing the heavy shutters over the windows. He wanted to be certain that if there was an attack… that it wouldn't be easy.

Neither Katherine or Grace were all that adept with a sword, though both knew how to use them. Katherine hadn't really handled one since she'd come out of the coma, and Grace had never really been interested in that part of the game. He smiled, recalling her insistence at one time that she would protect him.

John hadn't located Sarah Manning in the house, but Sarah often got up early and walked the island. He wasn't certain anyone had ever mentioned Nestor to her. The only other immortals on the island were the threesome that had remained behind when the ship had moved on. But they would all be together. No… Sarah was the one he worried about… she would be alone.

"Penny for your thoughts," Katherine said behind him. He turned. She was armed and dressed for battle.

"Just trying to think who's out there and who's at risk."

"From what Grace tells me… this Nestor was a truly twisted immortal… sadistic, cannibalistic, a thoroughly unpleasant fellow. But he's just an immortal… right?"

"His quickening is so strong it overwhelms the victor," John explained.

"But if he's free… he's in the body of an eight-year-old girl… right? Shouldn't be too difficult to handle."

"Handle… yes. Phillip had his hands full containing the child. He would never say too much about it."

Katherine tossed her hair over her shoulder and secured it with a band. "What about the hospital? Shouldn't some of us be there?"

John nodded. "I'm certain once Phillip has checked on Nestor, Greg and Eleanor will guard the hospital. For now… we keep a close eye on the children. The children are the ones most at risk."

Katherine nodded and headed into Phillip's study. There were three entrances into the villa on the ground floor. Each of the three was keeping an eye on one of them.

-----

Ascending a small hill, he stared down at the three immortals dozing in the afternoon sunshine. Naked, their arms and legs entangled with one another, they were the perfect prey. He hefted the trident and shifted the net so that he could throw it effectively.

"Time to winnow the herd a bit," he chuckled softly and then raced down the hill. He threw the net so that the female and one of the males was caught in that while he dashed the sharpened trident into the other male's neck and sliced to one side and then the other. His head rolled free.

Backing up… he watched with interest as the quickening leaped into the female who bucked up and down within the net as if in the throes of ecstasy. He pulled the net tighter to keep them both trapped within its web. The force of the quickening kept trying to separate the two. Both were screaming as they fought to be free of the net and each other.

As the quickening faded and settled, he pulled the net free and quickly sliced off the head of the other male. Once again the quickening leaped into the female. This time… freed of all restraints… her body levitated as she was tossed back and forth like a screaming rag doll.

He licked his teeth as he watched her. When she fell to the earth, he leaned over, picked her up and pulled her to him, aware of the throbbing between his legs.

"Who are you? What are you? You're not an immortal!" she wept in confusion.

He laughed. "No… I am eternal. I was when your kind were nothing and my time has most unexpectantly come again." He bit her neck and tasted the hot blood even as he bore her to the ground and entered her. He thrust into her, intoxicated by her fight and her screams. It was good to be back.

-----


	51. Chapter Forty Eight

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_:**

"How fast can this ship go?" Methos shouted as he climbed aboard.

"Depends on the wind," Caspar replied. "Who the hell is Nestor? What's this all about?"

Behind him in the launch, Alisaunne looked pale and had said little since Methos had mentioned her tormentor's name. Cassandra held her hand, murmuring softly to her.

Derrick rose and climbed aboard after Methos and Caspar. "Fire the engine up Caspar. We can make headway while we maneuver to catch the wind." He turned to Methos. "You're sure?"

"All I know is that Eleanor thinks something has happened. I have to get back as fast as possible."

"How do you know this?" Derrick persisted.

Methos drew in a long cautious breath as he looked at the immortals around him. "Intuition," he finally said. Derrick seemed to accept his explanation and pivoted to the pilothouse to steer them out of the harbor. Over his shoulder he yelled for the crew to deploy the sails so that they could catch the wind as soon as possible.

"Then it could be nothing," Amber was calling after Methos. "Maybe if you explain to us who this is… we'll understand better what to do."

Alisaunne began to shudder. "Do? You can do nothing! If he's back… if he's free… people will die." She pulled loose of Cassandra as she rose and grabbed Ren. "You saw me… you saw what he did… I tried to explain… He's the monster of my nightmares."

Ren shook his head. "You've been very cryptic about him." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close… relieved that she sighed against his chest and seemed calmer. Then she pulled away with a fearful expression.

Her hands covered her face and then her fingers ran through her hair. "What about flight? Can we get there faster that way?" she said, directing her question to Methos.

He hissed slightly. "With a currently dead body in a street, and witnesses who could identify us as the perpetrators of the deed… I think we'd be held up at the airport. No… our fastest way out of here is the ship."

He pivoted to follow Derrick toward the pilothouse and the maps. He wanted to be certain they charted the fastest way there.

"Bad man," Burke was mumbling as he climbed aboard. "Bad man in the darkness." He leaned against the railing and stared at his blood-covered hands as if the answer were there. His shoulders shook from his sobs.

Curiously, Cassandra lifted his head. _Tell me what you see_, she said.

"Something old with red eyes," Burked mumbled in a strange voice. "Seen him haunting my dreams for years. The shadow in the darkness that watches us all."

Methos whipped around and stared at him. "With red eyes?" He looked off into the distance. "MacLeod mentioned red eyes."

"What has Duncan to do with this?" Alisaunne yelled.

Methos tried to clear his thoughts. Red eyes meant Ahriman… the demon MacLeod had fought once. He said he'd defeated him… by not fighting him… not engaging him… but if Ahriman was the essence of evil… was it ever defeated? Could evil ever die? What if Nestor was just his puppet? Was he a failed champion? Or had he been seduced by a dark quickening himself? "I need more information," he mumbled and turned back to the pilothouse. He needed to contact Joe. Dawson had the files. Dawson had been there at the time. Dawson would know.

Behind him, the confusion mounted, as questions were asked for which there were no answers.

"How the hell does he know that this is a problem," David Keogh finally said to Michelle Webster as they worked the pulleys to raise the sails. "I mean… none of this makes sense."

"I don't know, David. I do know that I had some really bad nightmares during that period of time I was unconscious at the hands of the Watchers. And so did you."

David shrugged. "Yeah… but those dreams had some basis in reality."

"Look at Burke. He went through it too… we know that. Or at least we've suspected it. Maybe he saw something and that's why he's the way he is?" she replied with a shake of her head.

From the foremast where he worked, Masahiro watched them all… but most of all he watched Derrick as he had since finding him. The young man's basic trust of others had always interested him. He trusted this Pierson fellow. Masahiro continued to wonder if that were wise. As for the new man and woman that they'd brought aboard… he worried that these two immortals were dangerous to them all. The woman, especially, had moved in that alley as if she were a dangerous and deadly fighter. And because of Burke's unchecked violence… they had left behind what would surely be a dangerous enemy once he revived. Yet taking his head in view of witnesses would have been to out all of them.

Masahiro shook his head. This day's events… what had begun so promisingly as the rescue of someone they cared about… was becoming something else entirely.

He watched Cassandra work her magic on Burke. Derrick had forbidden her using the voice and Masahiro had been charged with making certain she obey. And yet right now… that ability was clearly being used to discover what was still bothering Burke. Masahiro finished his duties with a grunt and returned to stand watch over his charges.

_Tell me about your dreams, Burke_, Cassandra insisted. She glanced up at Masahiro's approach but then refocused on Burke. _What did you see?_

Around them, the others drifted silently as Burke's eyes glazed over. He closed them and rocked for a moment. When he opened them again, the voice that came from him, while essentially the same, was different. In that voice was no confusion.

"They came for us… Odette and me… in the dead of night. We didn't sense them coming. They were mortals who broke into our home and shot us with tranquilizers. I managed to kill two of them before the drugs took me."

_Who was Odette?_ Cassandra asked.

"My wife… my lover… my other half. We'd been together for over a century. She knew magic… she knew voodoo. She had the second sight and could see things before they happened. But this… she didn't see."

"Yes," murmured Cassandra. "Sometimes we who see the paths of the future do not see or understand some of them. It is as if our eyes are clouded." She sat back on her heels and glanced thoughtfully at the pilothouse.

"Go on," whispered Alisaunne nearby. "Find out what he knows."

"Perhaps Derrick or Adam should be here," Cassandra hesitated.

"They'll be back. If it really is Nestor… they need to get us to Niebos as fast as possible. I can fill them in… just tell me what this man knows."

Cassandra glanced at the others as they gathered around. Caspar was still below decks and she could feel the power of the small engine propelling them through the waters, even as Derrick steered them out into the open sea to catch the wind and Methos fretted. _How had he known?_ Cassandra turned back to Burke. _Tell me what happened next._

Burke nodded his head and shuddered. Then he began to speak once more.

-----

**Niebos, the cove:**

The waters still covered much of the sandy crescent of beach at the foot of the stone steps. Phillip paid the lapping water no mind as he waded into it. "I still feel her," he said, just before he dove beneath the surface. His head came back up further out in the cove some moments later when he gulped in air and then dove once more.

"He drowned him?" Greg asked.

"Her… and kept her on holy ground where he could keep an eye on her," Eleanor explained.

"Wait. I thought Nestor was a man."

Eleanor sighed and explained about how Nestor was many people and how his quickening… a thing of unrelenting darkness seemed to swallow whole anyone who beheaded him. "No matter who kills him, he overwhelms them. Some faster than others." She explained about how an immortal named Nick Wolfe had managed to hold the darkness in check for several years. But in the end, he succumbed to it. She then explained how the only immortal around who could stop Nick was a small one. She'd been unable to fight off the effects and had been restrained by a mortal whom she'd warned and trusted with her secret. "Eventually, Phillip arrived and he and Reagan Cole devised this plan to keep the body safe and the soul contained."

"I've been down here maybe a dozen times, I never noticed anything," Greg added. "Not even an immortal nearby."

"Well she's pretty far out. I don't think anyone could sense her from here," Eleanor explained and then rubbed the side of her head. The other night… the night she'd had to swim across the cove, she'd sensed a malevolence here that was seeking something. She'd fought it off… knowing what it was, but she hadn't been clear-headed for days after that. She shivered despite the warmth of the sun.

Phillip emerged and was evidently on the submerged rock, although he was still in water nearly up to his waist. "She's still here."

Eleanor stepped into the water, letting it lap over her feet and then up her legs to her hips as she waded out further and further. She closed her eyes and tried to sense what she'd felt the other night. She felt nothing. Her eyes snapped open. "He's not here. Bring her up."

"What?" Phillip cried out.

"Bring that child up here; we need to talk to her."

Phillip stared down into the waters and then dove into the depths once more. Eleanor began to wade toward the submerged rock shelf. Behind her, Greg stood on the stairs and gazed around at the cove. He was trying to get this to make sense somehow. Clearly more had been going on here on the island than he had ever guessed.

Noticing some fabric floating on the water, Greg leaned over to pick it up. It was a shredded negligee… covered with dried blood, which was even now dissolving in the seawater. He lifted it thoughtfully. Sarah had one like this. He stared at the other two immortals now struggling in the water with a body wrapped in a body bag and chains. A small voice in his head whispered. "_She hates me Greg. She'll do anything to kill me. You have to stop her. You have to kill her and protect me_." Greg shook his head to clear it. His hands tightened on the fabric as he stared at the other two. "_She lies, Greg. Every word she speaks is a lie_."

With Eleanor's help, Phillip managed to lift the body bag onto the rock. Then, struggling with the immense effort, he lifted it and began to wade through the deeper water on his way to the thin line of sand.

Eleanor floated next to him, treading water while helping him get Valeraine's corpse to shore. As her feet found the sand beneath the water… she reached to help him steer the body ahead of them. Finally reaching the beach, Phillip knelt next to the body and sliced the bag open.

He turned away a moment as the putrid smell overwhelmed him. She looked soft… almost gelatinous… pale… her blonde hair a thin greenish white web of threads. Beneath her skin… a network of small veins showed. Then she gasped and her blue eyes snapped open. She blinked and opened her mouth… wailing wordlessly in terror.

"It's all right Lass," Phillip assured her as he worked the knife through the bag to free her. He pushed and pulled at the chains… trying to move them off of her.

"Valeraine… take long slow breaths," Eleanor said quietly. "It's just us. You're safe. He can't hurt you. Not now."

The girl's eyes widened in terror. She shuddered and moved her mouth… trying to speak… but no sound came out. One hand was finally free of restraints and the fingers, so small that they looked like twigs reached for Phillip's hand. They looked lost in his massive hand as they curled around one of his fingers. The gesture reminded him of how Marianna had often curled in his lap and rested when she was small… how she'd drawn power from him.

"I wonder," he said.

"What?" Eleanor asked.

He relaxed and tried to feel as he did when Marianna drew from him. However nothing happened. He opened his eyes and smiled at the girl. "Sorry Lass… it was worth a try though." Then he continued to work at freeing her while Eleanor kept reassuring the girl that she was safe.

"Greg… let me have your sweater," Eleanor said turning toward the other immortal. "It's dry and we need to wrap her up in something." She noticed the bloody white fabric in his hands. "Greg? What's that?"

Greg wavered a moment on his feet. He seemed to be struggling with some inner demon. Eleanor rose, worried. Had he been compromised somehow?

Greg drew in a gasp of air and let the fabric fall to the sand. "Just some flotsam I guess," he said numbly. He pulled off the sweater he wore over his T-shirt and handed it to her. When their hands touched… he hissed and shook his head again. "Sorry… this is all just very confusing."

"I'll explain later. We have to get her warmed up." Eleanor turned to ease the sweater over the girl's head and pull it down over her, even as Phillip finished trying to get her free.

"He wanted you," she said hoarsely and gently touched Eleanor's face. "He reached out for you. I tried to stop him."

"I'm fine. He didn't get me," Eleanor said with a worried smile.

Valeraine shook her head. "He found another. He enflamed her… got her ready… gave her to the other one."

"The other one?" Phillip asked. He glanced at Eleanor… puzzlement in his brown eyes.

"Fire and ice and darkness," Valeraine said as her head began to nod. "Antithesis of life." She closed her eyes and lay against Phillip's chest.

"Wonder what she meant by that?"

"Nestor swore that even if we killed him in such a way that his quickening would never be released… that he'd be reborn," Eleanor said quietly. She reached over to stroke Valeraine's hair thoughtfully.

Phillip snorted as he rose to his feet, the girl in his arms. "He said a lot of things. He was mad. And so were those who held his spirit over the years." He glanced at the beach path, still under water and then at the stone steps, wondering which way he should go.

"No," Eleanor insisted as she touched his arm. "I think that's what happened. Valeraine mentioned three things… fire, ice, and darkness. She mentioned that he wanted me but took another and prepared her. What does that sound like?"

Phillip sighed and turned. "I don't know… a perversion of the way we made Marianna. We did it here… on holy ground." Desperation tinged his voice. "Is it still holy ground?"

"If something was born without one of us to lend our strength," Greg added in confusion… what would happen?"

Eleanor shook her head, recalling Darius' posthumous letter to her. "Death for the mother possibly. That's why we wanted to be very careful about who knew and make certain it was always in a controlled situation." She met his gaze. "Who do you think he used?"

Greg rubbed both of his temples and grimaced in pain. "She was darker that last night. She was so strange."

"Who?" Phillip asked.

"Sarah," Greg replied. "Sarah was down here the other night with me. I left. The next day she was… she felt… dark… cold… different. She told me things." He screamed suddenly in frustration. "She told me you hated her. She told me to kill you!" He drew his sword. Beneath his feet the ground rumbled and shifted as he held it in both hands, and pointed it at Eleanor. "Run," he whispered in wide-eyed terror.

-----


	52. Chapter Forty Nine

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

**Burma:**

Finding the hood of a car parked on a side street near the small local airport that Reagan had used, Duncan spread the map of Burma out and tapped the spot he thought they needed to go. He pulled the box from his pocket, opened it and stared back and forth between the vision the stone showed him… and the map. He moved his finger slightly to the left as the vision pulled back to show him the jungle that he'd identified as Burma. "Somewhere near here," he said thickly.

Amanda and Kiem Sun looked over his shoulder with interest.

"We would have to hire a vehicle," Kiem Sun grunted. "That area is fairly isolated."

"I wonder that Alistair even owned anything so remote."

"Likely an old tea plantation," Duncan snorted refolding the map. "He married into a wealthy family… there were no children. Once he was bored or the wife died… he moved on and never gave the property a second thought."

"You don't think he'd leave Kate and go on do you?" Amanda murmured with worry.

"Why would it matter if he left her?" Sun asked.

Amanda and Duncan met one another's gaze.

"He doesn't know about the dangers," Amanda said in a hushed voice.

"He has no clue. He was only doing this for her," Duncan nodded. He stared around and wished he had something or someone to hit.

"Then I will arrange for us to hire a car," Kiem smiled with a nod. He strode off to speak with some passersby in the street.

"He's being insufferable," Duncan snorted once Sun was out of earshot.

"Well at least he does speak the language here… and several of the dialects which is more than you or I can do."

"Only because I never came here in my travels," Duncan grumbled.

"I should have," Amanda murmured. "Imagine pilgrims coating stone statues of Buddhas with gold."

"Amanda!" Duncan warned.

"Oh I wouldn't steal from the statues," she replied with a shrug. "That would be sacrilegious. But all those pilgrims would have been easy prey."

"I think it's all gold leaf anyway," Duncan explained with a grin. "It would take an awful lot to amount to anything."

Amanda shrugged. "Oh pooh! Gold is gold… it all adds up the same."

Duncan was still enjoying her self-righteous anger when Sun returned with a small mortal man who bowed and grinned with a partially toothless smile.

"This is Tran. He has agreed to drive us into the area."

"It would be better if we drove."

"Tran assures me that we will be better off with a driver who knows the roads, the shortcuts, the alternate routes… the weather and who and when to pay a toll and who to run over."

Duncan gazed up and down at the small smiling man. "He wouldn't really run over someone would he?"

Kiem turned and asked that very question. Tran grinned even more widely as he nodded. Duncan could detect a twinkle of amusement in the man's eyes.

Sun chuckled. "Tran assures me that he will not kill anyone without your permission."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Very well. Let's go. Where's his car?"

Tran bowed several times as he led the way to a beat-up and rusty clunker about thirty years old. Duncan raised an eyebrow at the car. "Something from the nineties… how droll." He opened the rear passenger door, wincing as the door squeaked in protest. He motioned Amanda in. She protested as the leather seat was cracked and rough but got in after he thought _Now!_ at her. Kiem Sun climbed into the front seat so that he could more easily translate directions.

Even before the doors were shut, Tran had geared up the engine and hit the accelerator. They were off… belching black smoke.

-----

The trip started well enough. The roads were paved and there was a small amount of traffic as the road moved through fields and jungle. Before too long, however, they had left the paved signs of civilization behind and the road… if it could be called that… meandered through a marshy land of tall grasses.

"Let's hope this is a shortcut and not an alternate route," Duncan grumbled. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"Tran says that the bridge over the marshes is closed for repairs and that this is shorter than going all the way around it. He says not many know the route. He says that we are indeed fortunate to have employed him," Sun translated.

Duncan shook his head and put an arm around Amanda's shoulders. His fingers touched her neck and he gasped as he brushed the scars at her neck. For a moment she was all he wanted and the feel of her finally in his arms again was almost overwhelming. He moved his hand down from her neck while he made a fist with the other hand and pumped it up and down a few times. _I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod… I choose when. I choose how._

_Nice,_ Amanda sent back to him as she cuddled against him. Duncan smiled in contentment. If only they found Kate and Alistair and all was well… then he could explain everything while he and Amanda helped them prepare for the baby. As for Sun? Some part of Duncan's heart feared that Kiem Sun's reasons for being here were in direct opposition to his. Whatever Sun was holding so quietly to… for whatever reason he was with them he worried that if Sun became aware of Kate's pregnancy… all bets about his being here to help were off.

_Hold your friends close; your enemies closer_, Duncan thought grimly.

In his arms, Amanda shifted. _Which am I?_

Duncan grinned, aware that Tran was watching them in his rear view mirror. He tipped Amanda's face up to face his and kissed the tip of her nose. _Need you ask?_

A few moments later, the car hit a bump in the muddy road and they bounced up off the seat in laughter. They'd bumped their heads against one another.

-----

**Niebos, the hospital:**

Magda Thessalonika's head snapped up sharply as the doors of the emergency room opened wide and a young man, his dark hair tangled and wild, his arms bloody, entered with a female in his arms. Blood trailed from her arms and legs where her feet and hands had been sliced off. Her head lolled on her neck. She was clearly in shock.

"Call them at the _patrone's_ villa. We have an emergency," she briskly ordered as she grabbed a gurney and pushed it forward for the panicked young man to place the women.

"I found her this way," he said in confusion. "I think she's dying."

Magda's nursing staff seldom had critical emergencies to deal with, but they'd been well trained. Efficiently they wheeled the woman into a curtained trauma area and began to examine her as they staunched the bleeding. The doctor on call had not returned from the village… but Magda felt the staff could at least get a clear assessment of the injuries.

She lifted one arm, noting that the wound's bleeding had slowed on its own. "How did this happen?" she turned to ask the young man.

"Oh…" he grinned as he slashed a knife across her throat. "I did that."

Both of Magda's hands numbly covered the deep slice even as her life's blood poured out of her. The young man turned and began to slice at the others. Their screams were the last things she heard.

-----

**Niebos, the villa:**

"No!" thundered John as he grabbed Grace's arms and shot a glare at Katherine.

"There's an emergency," Grace pleaded. "Someone may die. Eleanor isn't there at the moment."

John sucked in air, held it and then calmly replied. "Two of us would have to go. That leaves one to guard the children. Don't you think an emergency right now is a bit suspicious?"

Grace glanced toward the stairs, lifting her eyes to the direction of the room where all the children were. "Hope," she whispered and began to shudder.

"We wait until we hear from Phillip, Greg or Eleanor. Only then do we venture out," John continued.

"What about the mortals?" Katherine asked. "They need to be warned."

"I think they already are," John insisted. Inwardly he wondered if anyone were truly prepared for this Nestor if he had escaped. John shook his head. "I think they're on their own for the moment. If it weren't for watching over the children… I'd be out there hunting him now."

"Some of those children are likely quite capable," Katherine insisted.

John nodded and then shook his head. "From what I've been told, if this is Nestor… he would overwhelm them in seconds. He'd overwhelm any one of us. Even if we killed him… we'd become him and be even more powerful. Call the hospital back, Katherine. Check on the emergency."

Katherine turned to do that while John enfolded Grace in his arms and held her, trying to calm her sobs and her fears.

Katherine put the phone down. "There's no answer," she said soberly.

Grace began to wail as Katherine leaned on the back of the sofa and considered throwing something in frustration. John feared that all of their lives might soon be forfeit.

-----

He licked the blood off the hunting knife with a wide grin. He loved it when his plans worked so well.

_**Earlier:**_

He'd found the knife amongst one of the dead immortal's belongings when he'd pulled on one man's clothes. _How convenient!_ he'd grinned. On the ground the female moaned and shuddered from the brutal rape. He loved raping immortals. They healed so much faster which meant he could be rougher with them and rape them more often as they'd heal… usually within minutes.

This one was also moaning and weeping about her lost lovers. He'd beaten her so thoroughly that she also had a few broken bones. He noted how long her healing rate was. He'd have to know just when to make those final cuts.

She screamed in terror as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "Scream all you want… it excites me."

That shut her up. She began to beat at his back. He smirked as he picked up the net and trident after hiding the knife in the waistband of the black jeans and pulling the black T-shirt over it. The boots pinched his feet a bit… but they were the better fit of the two pair. They were good strong-soled boots… meant to withstand a lot of abuse. He chuckled at that thought, and headed toward the hospital. It was time he staked a clear claim to this island.

Just outside of the building, he tossed the female to the ground and pounded a fist into her face until her nose and jaw broke and even her eyes bled. Then he neatly sliced off the hands and feet. Leaving the trident and net where he could get them when he needed them again, he lifted the female in his arms and headed into the hospital.

After dealing with the nurses and orderlies, he'd turned on the bed-ridden patients, not caring that a few ambulatory mortals had raced screaming from the building. Their tales of bloodshed and horror would only serve him. Meanwhile, he made certain that not a single mortal remained alive in the building. Only then did he turn his attention to the immortal again. She had healed by this time and had flopped off of the gurney to begin crawling towards the entrance… her face and stumps healed, but she was crippled for the remainder of her life.

He pulled her head back and exposed her lovely neck. "I could kill you now… but if I do… they might not know and understand. Tell them… I'm back. I warned them once that I would return. Each time I die… I return stronger." He bent to kiss her, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She bit him. He laughed and pulled back. "I hope they don't kill you themselves. We could definitely have some fun again later." Her eyes widened in horror as he released her and turned away.

He slipped out of the door, retrieved the net and trident as he slunk off into the landscape. He'd need other clothes. These were wet and slick with blood and were becoming uncomfortable. He discovered that he was hungry again. While he'd hoped to find another immortal at the hospital and had been surprised that none was there, it meant little. Oh well… later. They would all die… and they would tremble in fear before they did so.

-----


	53. Chapter Fifty

**Chapter Fifty**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_:**

Burke's voice took on a soft, southern drawl, "You have to understand; time and place had no meaning after we were captured.

"Odette and I had lived in New Orleans for a century or so. I'd met her there… in the days before the war… the Civil War that is. I saw her pass on the streets and felt her immortality nudge at me like someone beating a drum. I followed her.

"She was beautiful, my Odette. Tall and stately with ebony skin, she carried herself always with pride. She'd always had the sight, even before her first death, and had been trained in the voodoo ways by an old woman who helped raise her on the plantation. They were both slaves. She'd been beaten to death for defying her owner and casting a curse on him. Poor Odette. She never could see danger when it applied to her.

"When she came back to life… she'd been worshipped and protected by those in the slave community. She was their priestess. I was the first immortal she ever met."

Burke shook his head with a smile. "She could be wicked with a blade in her hand. She moved like a graceful dancer. In bed she was a tigress. And her powers of divination continued to grow as the years passed.

"We moved from New Orleans proper to an old abandoned plantation where the people came with offerings and to ask her help. Many was the night when I could hear them chant and beat drums. Many was the night when she came to our bed with her hands covered in blood… hungry for my touch.

"Time passed. The years melted one into the other. Then they came one night without warning. They came… these mortal men we could not sense… and shot us with drugs and nothing was ever the same."

_**Mexico, 2012:**_

Tyler Burke awoke in the dim light, his mouth feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton. The bed he was on vibrated and occasionally bumped or shifted from side to side. He tried to clear his thoughts and realized he was in the back of a quickly moving vehicle careening over rough ground. His right arm throbbed. He lifted it and noticed the needle still taped to it… but it had been shaken loose from the vein it had been in.

He closed his eyes to recall the last thing he could remember. The men at the house… they'd shot them with something. With a snarl he looked around. He could feel other immortals. Odette was next to him on his left, still unconscious. He could see the IV still in her arm.

Strapped down, he couldn't roll over or get up, but with his right arm free, he reached to touch her… to pull her IV loose. He couldn't quite manage it. Lying back, he looked around and took stock of their situation. There were maybe half a dozen or so unconscious immortals in the truck… for truck it had to be. He could clearly feel the movement now. Each moment he was free of the drugs, he felt more clear-headed. He noted that they must have been unconscious for some time… he had grown a bit of a beard. He felt the flaming red hair on his chin and tried to figure out how long he must have been unconscious.

He had to get his strength back and he had to figure out a way to free himself of the restraints before someone entered and noticed his IV was out… and reinserted it.

Burke licked his lips, wishing he had something to drink. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Whatever this stuff was they'd been giving him… it had to be strong to keep even immortals under. And that begged the question. _Who knows about us?_ he wondered. Evidently someone did and someone was collecting immortals. _But for what reason?_

With a hiss, he began to fool with the restraints. All the while, the gurney he was on shifted and rolled slightly. None of the others did so. Possibly the brake had come off of one wheel. It wasn't much of an advantage… but it would have to do. His numb and clumsy fingers worked the buckles of the straps.

His head ached… partially from the drugs and partly from being so near so many other immortals. He'd always had headaches when around others. It was why Odette's feel had always amazed him. Around her he felt only a soothing touch… perhaps akin to love. When he met others… when he fought others to protect them both… she alone could ease his headaches that followed the Quickenings. Tears filled his eyes as he worked feverishly at the straps. The more he focused on getting them undone, the more nauseous he felt. He hadn't felt like this since he'd been a boy… since before his first death. He managed to turn to one side and heave out a vile liquid. He shuddered in the aftermath and lay back for a moment to regain his equilibrium. Then he began again. This time his fingers didn't seem so numb. He took deep even breaths and prayed that the truck would keep moving until he could manage an escape with Odette.

Finally the restraints fell away and Burke swung his legs over the side and sat up… aware that he was still dizzy. Everything around him seemed to waver and shift. Taking a long slow breath, he eased off of the gurney and half-fell toward Odette's gurney. He pulled the IV free of her arm and undid her restraints. When done, he brushed his fingers over face. "Odette honey. Wake up. Wake up," he kept murmuring. Finally she whimpered and shuddered as she began to awaken. Her black eyes opened wide… the black within black pupils completely dilated. Then her eyes rolled until he saw only the whites.

"Red eyes in the darkness. The demon waits. Undefeated he strains at the chains that bind him. He comes. He comes too soon. The walls between worlds have thinned."

"It's a nightmare honey," Tyler Burke said. "It's the drugs." But he wasn't so certain. Maybe she'd had a real vision as she'd ascended from the darkness of her drugged sleep. "Now breathe deeply. We got to run."

Her eyes rolled back until she focused on him, raising a hand to his beard. "You grew a beard," she laughed.

"So it seems."

Burke helped his wife up, letting her lean on him as they staggered through the moving truck towards the locked cargo door. The truck continued to careen and bump slightly as it drove on. He considered pulling the IV's from the others… but he wanted to be certain they could get out first. He didn't know these others… and some of them might be headhunters for all he knew. No… he needed to take care of Odette. She was his priority.

"Where are we," Odette murmured as he stood her against a wall and tried to undo the mechanism.

"Back of a movin' truck honey. Now don't you fret. I'll get us free."

He strained against the mechanism that held the cargo door in place. Nothing moved. He began to curse under his breath.

"These others… maybe they could help?" Odette said pointing at the others. "If we work together…?" Her voice drifted off as Burke shook his head.

"Some might start tryin' to take our heads when they go on their feet. You recall that Yankee carpetbagger not long after the War. He didn't want to talk. All he wanted was our heads."

"I recall. I also recall that doctor who came through New Orleans about the turn of the last century. He didn't like what I did and he didn't think my magic was real… but he didn't threaten either of us," Odette went on to say.

Burke laid his head against the locked door. He couldn't do this alone. He'd need help. Maybe she was right. Turning, he watched her pull the IV's out and unstrap the other immortals. He feared what would happen… but it had to be. They were still waiting for the first of the others to come around when the truck turned to the left and braked to a slow stop.

Burke looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, finally smashing a gurney and breaking off a leg to use as a club. Outside he could hear raised voices.

"So what do we do with them now?"

"We follow through. We hold them until we get word from the boss. If he doesn't need them… we take their heads. End of story."

A third voice entered the conversation. "I can't get through to Switzerland. Something's wrong."

Their voices lowered and while Burke knew they were still talking… he could no longer make out what they said. The other immortals began to stir. One of them grasped Odette by the neck and squeezed as he snarled at her. "What have you done to me?"

Burked turned and cracked him over the skull with the gurney leg. The immortal fell back and raised his arms to protect his head.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Burke murmured as he pulled Odette away, hugging her to him and making certain she was all right.

"I am Robert Carson," the awakening immortal yelled. "Fight me fairly you piece of shit! Where's my sword?"

"Not a clue. There don't seem to be any weapons in here."

By this time several of the others sat up vomiting or holding their heads and looking around in confusion.

"Listen to me," Burke said loudly, fearful that the noise would be heard by those outside of the truck. "We are prisoners. We've been drugged. There are no weapons except what we can devise to attack our jailers with when they open this door."

There was mumbling as the others rose unsteadily and to look around. Some beat their hands on the gurneys, as there was little else in the cargo area. Again… Burke worried about the noise. He continued to stand near the locked door. Soon two other men joined him and the three of them strained and beat at the locking mechanism. Still the door didn't budge.

Behind him… two of the immortals had evidently recognized one another. They must have been stopped while fighting and were determined to continue their battle. They leaped at one another and grappled each other as they rolled on the floor… attempting a beheading by sheer force alone.

Odette suddenly shrieked… her eyes rolled once more. "The demon laughs. You do his bidding. We are not the enemy… those outside are."

The two men looked at her in confusion.

"Is she crazy?"

"Demons? What nonsense is that?"

But her words stopped their fight. They rose, and while they still glared at one another, they helped with the door. Outside it was deathly quiet.

"That was when the mortals opened up automatic weapons fire into the truck from outside. Their bullets pierced the container so that light from outside could be seen from a thousand holes. All of us were hit. We slunk to the floor… bleeding… dying. Then the doors opened and they jumped in, still firing their weapons at any of us that moved. I reached for Odette to hold her tightly. 'Twas the last time I saw her face.

The others shifted nervously around Burke. Those who recalled their own experiences at the hands of the Watchers under Henry Rawlins knew how lucky any of them were be to be alive.

"What did she mean about a demon with red eyes?" Michelle asked finally.

"Ahriman," Alisaunne whispered. "MacLeod defeated him back about the turn of the century. Or he thought he did."

"Perhaps what Rawlins did in forcing atrocities on us stirred the demon and brought him to power again before his time."

"I thought you said his name was Nestor?" Ren asked Alisaunne.

She nodded. "The one I knew… the one who raped and tried to mutilate me as a girl was named Nestor. That's what the others called him. They killed him and years later had to kill the one who had killed him. After that they hid him someplace. He's the one I always feel." She glanced up at Ren thoughtfully. "I haven't felt him in days. Not since we… you know… Not since you held me and kissed me and calmed my fears. I thought it was what you did. But maybe it's something more."

Cassandra nodded and leaned forward to stroke Burke's face. "What happened to Odette?"

Burke began to weep and his massive shoulders shook like a baby as he wailed. He lifted his bloodied hands. "She's in me now. I see her visions. I see the darkness and the land of fire. I see the demon with red eyes. The demon comes! He sends his servant before him to prepare the way."

His voice carried on the wind. Inside the pilothouse… Methos and Derrick looked at one another. Time was now even more of the essence.

-----

**Niebos, the cove:**

"Run!" Greg said calmly as he raised his sword. "I don't want to hurt you." He shuddered as if fighting an inner demon urging him on.

Eleanor stared at him numbly. "You can't mean this. This is holy ground."

"Not for long," Greg added with a shudder and then lunged toward her… swinging his sword. Eleanor backed away from him, fumbling to draw her own sword.

Phillip reacted quickly, tossing Valeraine directly at Greg. Her body _thumped_ against him and caused him to stagger in mid slice. Valeraine's body fell to the sand even as Phillip drew his shortsword to block Greg's attempt to further his attack. Eleanor backed away… her eyes flitting from one man to the other and then to the helpless Valeraine. As Phillip and Greg circled one another… slicing and lunging, she crouched carefully and pulled the child into her arms and out of the way of the fight.

Around them all the seas boiled as the ground shook.

"Don't kill him," Eleanor cried out to Phillip as she watched them fight. "He's possessed or something. He's not thinking clearly."

Greg foamed slightly at the mouth and appeared to be fighting himself as much as the two of them. "I can't stop myself!" He sliced again and then tried an overhead move on Phillip. The two men lunged and parried as they slowly moved over the crescent beach and into the water.

Eleanor leaned down to check on Valeraine. The girl grabbed her arm, her thin fingers bruising Eleanor's flesh in their strangely strong grip. "He's back. He's loose and is in them both. You'll have to kill them. Little by little he's eased out of me over the years. But he saved enough to prepare the whore. He filled her to overflowing so that she would the devil himself if he asked her to."

Eleanor knelt next to Valeraine and pulled the child into her arms. "Some part of him did get into me too. I fear he's managed to poison all of us to some extent."

"Maybe he's just trying to awaken what was," the girl said, her blue eyes wide and knowing. She leaned close to Eleanor's face and breathed cold air on her cheek. "Kiss me," she cackled with a wicked grin.

Eleanor pulled back in sudden fear.

Valeraine rolled onto her hands and knees and then managed to stand. The ground continued to shudder and rocks fell from the cliff-face. "Kill me and know me better," she laughed.

Eleanor grasped her sword as she rose… moving back from what was no longer a child… except in form. Her eyes reflected a sudden understanding of the situation.

"I'm unarmed… still weak from my ordeal. Take my head before I get my strength back," she laughed, pulling at Greg's sweater and thrusting out her neck. "F--king that c--t last night wore me out. You should thank me for her death, by the way. She wanted you dead. She worked on Gregor very hard to make him want to kill you." Valeraine's tongue wagged about in her mouth as she laughed. She lifted the sweater from over her short legs and spread them… easing up and down in a grotesque motion of sex. "You three thought you were so smart… so daring… f--king out there over my head. I knew how to get out after that. All I had to do was wait and work slowly on whoever heard me… came to me. My master helped. His power grows in the darkness. I spoke to all of you over the years… just a little bit at a time. And in the end… I _am_ out… and my master's child is here as well. And yours will soon be dead… all of them."

"No…" wept Eleanor. "No… you lie." She raised her sword to attack.

_Careful!_ she heard Methos in her head. _More danger!_

"Kill me and I heal even faster and come back more powerful. But if you take my head… I might be too weak to overwhelm you. Give us a kiss love." Again she hopped and gyrated.

In the distance, Eleanor could hear the swords of the two men clang. Underfoot… the earthquake continued.

She mentally sorted through all the moves she'd ever learned… all the ways to deal with an opponent. She needed to put Valeraine down… but not kill her… and certainly not behead her. At the same time… the earth groaned in the horror that one fight was already going on here. What would a second one do? Eleanor heard a loud sudden _crack_ high overhead and saw dust and rock forced into the air. "The volcano," she gasped. The dead volcano that had once created Niebos was stirring.

"Phillip!" she screamed. "The volcano. We have to end this."

Phillip paused momentarily and glanced upward. Then he screamed as he leaped suddenly at Greg and drove the shortsword down into Greg's left shoulder… toward the heart. As the young immortal fell to his knees and then toppled over onto the sand… Phillip pulled his sword free and backed away from him. He shook his head… his eyes slowly clearing of the madness, and held out a hand to Eleanor. "We have to go. The others need us."

Valeraine laughed and clapped her hands. "Run Phillip. Try to save your island. Try to save your people. The nightmare is come at last. The day of judgment is upon you all!" Again she cackled and laughed maniacally.

Eleanor ran to him and gave him her hand as they began to run… not for their lives… but the lives of all the others on the island. The two immortals raced off, leaving the two possessed ones behind as they splashed and waded through the shallow waters still covering the beach path.

Behind them, Valeraine cackled and danced; she spun about in the sand in sheer ecstasy of freedom and her growing strength. When another plume of mud and rock burst into the air, she stopped to regard it with approval. Then she picked up Greg's rapier and squatted down next to him, pulling his head into her laugh. "Poor Gregor. Let me kiss it and make it better." She lowered her mouth to his and licked his unresponsive lips. "Sarah said you were a good f--k. Now let's see how well you do." Valeraine stroked his hair and crooned into his ear. She slid one hand under his waistband to squeeze him tightly… her long nails drawing blood. "Gregor… I have something for you," she whispered. Licking her teeth, she knew how hungry she was…it would be so easy to bite him… bite something off… slice it off with the sword. Valeraine shuddered. She had to control that… this was not the time for that. She needed this one whole and unharmed. She needed him to kill this body she still inhabited so that she could claim his. She inserted her tongue into his ear as she worked her hand, all the while striving to bring him back to life as soon as possible.

-----


	54. Chapter Fifty One

**Chapter Fifty-One**

**North-Central Burma:**

"The village of Ko Pan is just ahead," Sun was saying from the front seat. "Tran suggests we stop there and ask the locals if they've seen Westerners about."

Duncan nodded. They were in the right area… he was certain of it. The muddy road meandered through the waving green marsh grasses. On all sides the marsh gave way to a thick wall of jungle that rose about them like a great green wall. Without another clue… this might be as close as they'd get. He clenched his teeth and grunted slightly. Aware that he'd disturbed Amanda.

_Sorry_, he thought to her.

She sent back the feel of a rather insistent kiss followed by laughter as he groaned a bit.

_Pleasant dreams!_ she added.

_Mine? Yours? _

_Mine silly_. She tucked her head back against him and sighed.

Tran pulled to a stop in the village near what appeared to be a bar. As Duncan alit from the car, he could sense an immortal presence. "Someone's here," he murmured.

Sun, who'd emerged from the car as well nodded. "I feel one too. It might not be Craille. It could be a local. I will check."

"He's my problem," Duncan growled.

"Friend MacLeod. If it is not Craille… you are in no shape to meet anyone. Please… allow me the honor." He grinned widely.

"Make it snappy," Duncan replied darkly as he helped Amanda out of the car. Sun took off towards the bar and its jarring, atonal Eastern music. Duncan didn't know whether he hoped Craille was there or if he didn't.

Amanda slid her hands into the trouser pockets. "Think I'll head over to that shop and see if I can't buy some food. I'm starving."

"Be careful," he told her as he leaned on the roof of the car and stared after Sun.

Amanda opened her mouth to say something and then closed it as she sauntered across the street to examine the wares of the merchant. She could smell delectable meat, spiced and skewered on small bamboo slivers. Her mouth watered as she tried to think what the last really decent meal she'd had was. She shoved her hands into her pockets, pulling out a handful of bills that Reagan had liberated from the property room at the Hong Kong hospital, and sorted through them.

She finally held one up. "Takey, takey?"

The merchant took it from her offered hand, smelled it, licked it and turned to talk to the old woman doing the cooking. Finally he gave it back to her, and waved her away angrily. Evidently he didn't accept Hong Kong currency.

"Well is there a money exchange around here?" Amanda tried to explain. She got nowhere. With a hungry look at the food, she stalked back to the car. "International relations seem lost in this place. You'd think they'd know good money when they saw it… even if it wasn't the coin of the realm."

Duncan raised an eyebrow and smiled. Then he returned to regard the bar into which Kiem Sun had vanished.

-----

The interior of the bar was dim, as most third world bars of this nature were. Ceiling fans turned lazily but failed to stir a breeze in the hot, stifling atmosphere. Kiem Sun could see six men sitting around a table playing poker. A woman was setting fresh drinks beside them and clearing away the others. The smell of tobacco hung in the air like a thin fog.

One of the men, western by his look, leaned back in his chair as Sun entered and, holding his cards to his chest while the woman set a drink before him, glanced up at Sun with a knowing expression. His white suit was sweat-stained and it was clear he had seen better days.

It wasn't Craille.

Sun gave him a nod and headed for the bar where he ordered a drink, and then leaned against the bar sipping it as he watched the hand of poker play out.

The immortal won this hand and pulled the small pile of cash to him. He then rose and, counting the money, headed for Sun. "I might just have enough finally to get out of here."

"Only if they let you leave the game," sun chuckled.

"Ah… you speak English then."

"And a great many other languages. Kiem Sun," he said with a bow of his head.

"Kit O'Brady. Listen… is this a challenge? This really isn't a good time or place for me. Maybe after darkness falls… on the outskirts of the village or something." O'Brady glanced around, worried that their words were overheard and understood.

"I am looking for another one of us," Sun replied.

"Oh… you mean the Brit."

Sun raised an eyebrow. "Yes… he is English… or was."

O'Brady shook his head. "Haven't seen him in a few weeks. He comes in for supplies."

"He has property here," Sun continued smoothly.

"Yeah… some old tea plantation that the jungle has taken back. He said if tea grew there… it was wild."

"Any idea where it is?"

O'Brady shrugged and stopped to hold up one bill to the thin light. "You know… I think a couple of these are fake." He shot a glance at the men at the table, who suddenly began to laugh knowingly. "Damn! I'm gonna have to play another hand or two. So long friend." He snatched up a poured whiskey from the bar and stalked back to the table.

Sun watched him a moment longer and then asked the bartender about the other westerner's plantation. He laid a gold coin on the bar in payment for his drink and the information. Satisfied that he'd obtained all the information he could, Sun turned and left, blinking in the sudden glare of the afternoon sunshine as he stepped out of the bar.

"Did you get anything?" Duncan asked him once Sun had returned to the car.

"Yes… a westerner lives on a plantation about ten miles south of the village. He comes in for supplies. Hasn't been seen in about two weeks." He glanced around as Tran, bearing drinks and food wrapped in leaves also arrived and began to distribute his purchases. The little man's voice ran on and on as he bowed and smiled. He then climbed back into the car and started the ignition.

"Guess it's time to go," Duncan smirked as he climbed back into the backseat after Amanda

"He says we need petrol first. It's very expensive though."

"Pay him. I don't want to get in-country and then run out of gas," Duncan ordered.

Tran stopped where a lone pump stood and swiftly filled the tank. Then he drove south into the jungle, still talking a mile a minute.

"What's he saying?" Amanda finally asked.

"He's talking about the history of the area… wars fought… great battles," Sun explained. "I can translate if you're interested."

"Not really," a bored Amanda replied.

The trail they were following was so narrow by this time that branches kept slapping the sides of the car as it bumped along the uneven track. An eerie green darkness began to close in on them the further into the jungle they went. The heat became oppressive and steam began to rise like a fine mist about them. It was as if they had journeyed to another world.

Duncan began to wonder if they weren't just being taken for a ride.

-----

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II:_**

The emergency radio bleeped insistently. Derrick reached to turn it on and tune in the warning bulletin.

"Warning to all small craft in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. Tremors of 3.8 have been detected in the Aegean area. Be warned of wave action if in shallow waters and swells in deeper ones."

The warning kept repeating.

Methos met Derrick's eyes… each one reflecting the unspoken fear that they both felt. He closed his and then shook his head. "I should never have left them."

"How bad is it?" Derrick asked.

"The volcano may go off. Only steam, rocks and mud so far and some small shakes… but Nestor is definitely loose… and something else. Something evidently far more dangerous." He stared off into the horizon… willing them to move faster.

-----

Cassandra's voice whispered smoothly in Burke's ear as she stroked his face. It was important to find out what he knew. _Tell me of Odette's death and your escape_, she insisted.

The big man shuddered and gulped. He continued in the soft Louisiana drawl so different from his usual voice.

"The next time I woke… I was in some sort of arena. Overhead… candy pink clouds rushed across a sky of purple. The sounds of the faceless crowd were all about me… urging me on. In my hands was a sword. Below the sounds of the crowd, I heard the men speaking about a test… and trying to carry on their boss' work.

"Within the arena I was suddenly attacked a huge black serpent that hissed and coiled at me like something out of a nightmare. Maddened it struck out at me… and I used the blade with both hands to fight it off. It kept attacking me… trying to get close. I finally managed to slice off its head. That's when part of the illusion ended. It was Odette I'd beheaded. Her body slipped to the sand and I screamed as her quickening poured into me. I became lost in the corridors of darkness that had filled her mind and traveled roads of red-hued lightning that made no sense to me. Voices screamed in my ears. The demons were everywhere."

Burke shuddered again. "I woke up then… it was all an illusion… but Odette lay dead beside me… her head resting on her chest. I fought like a madman. I ripped out my restraints, the IV drugs… everything. I fought them off… those mortal men. They seemed bewildered that I'd come out of it that way. Maybe I just wasn't far enough under. Maybe Odette was helping me. I don't know. I just recall tearing them apart with my bare hands. When they were dead, I raised my blood-covered hands up before my face and screamed for the loss of Odette. Then I gathered her body into my arms and departed in the darkness. I buried her in the desert… and then I kept running. Running always from the horrors I saw within. Running from those red eyes."

Burke lowered his head and closed his eyes. He shuddered and sobbed as one bereft.

Cassandra sat back and sighed deeply. "Prophecy is hard enough on those who inherit the gift legitimately. But forced on someone traumatized and with no frame of clear reference… it's no wonder he's like he is."

Alisaunne rubbed her brow. "I better tell Adam and Derrick." She turned to leave, pausing only when Ren took her arm. "What?" she asked.

"I've seen them too… the red eyes. At least I think I have. They were part of the nightmares I've had over the years. Sometimes I saw them when I fought others and heard laughter."

Behind them Amber shook her head. "I think he musta been in that truck of immortals tha' got away from us in Mexico… from Katya, McCormick and me. We always wondered wha' happened to tha' truck and Matt never could find it. Tell Derrick tha' to." She knelt next to Burke and Cassandra. "Hey there Tyler… yar among friends now. Ya can sleep again if ya want."

He stared at her with tears in his eyes. "Go home now?"

Amber nodded. "We go home."

Alisaunne squeezed Ren's hand. "I won't be long." She leaned forward to kiss him lightly, brushing the side of his face with her fingers, and then pivoted to stride to the pilothouse. Once there, she closed the door firmly behind her as she told them the details of Burke's story, Ren's comment, and the conclusion that Amber had drawn about Burke.

"Nestor hasn't bothered me in days. I've felt no smirking remarks from him. He's got bigger fish to fry right now than tormenting me." She looked from one man to the other. "Maybe he knew I was coming when I solved the puzzle of the cavern writing. Maybe he understood that he had to move now… before I confronted him."

"The cavern?" Methos asked.

Derrick nodded. "Amber gave us a clue when she saw it. It seems to have been a representation of us… of our beginnings… and our end."

Methos cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. "I don't understand… it was just the patterns over and over. Marked out and rewritten. There was no rhyme or reason to their organization. They weren't as they should be."

He started and realized that both of the young people were staring at him curiously. "Oh… the patterns. You don't know those."

Derrick shook his head. "Maybe I do. There was something familiar about them… something…" His voice trailed off as he stared at one hand and lifted it from the wheel. His fingers moved in the air and he closed his eyes… breathing shallowly.

"Derrick?" Methos called to him.

Derrick's eyes snapped open. "Something so simple. But Darius never really knew the patterns… and you never saw the cavern until after his death."

Alisaunne stared at the young man. "How do you know what Darius knew?"

Derrick shrugged. "I seem to have a few of his memories."

Alisaunne collapsed slightly against the chart table. "How much do you remember?" her eyes pleaded with him for the answers.

"I know he adored you. You were important to him. But I don't clearly recall anything else. Some part of him lives in you as well."

Alisaunne shook her head. "He died so long ago. My memories are those of a child that no longer exists."

Derrick fumbled for the Watchers' Chronicle reader that Joe Dawson had given him, and tossed it to her. "Then you should read this as well. We both will have much to discuss."

She turned it over in her hands while Methos stared at it… knowing it for what it was. Suddenly he sobbed and turned away. His hands gripped the table so tightly that his knuckles were white. He shuddered slightly. "It's going to get bad. The killing's begun. Can't this thing move any faster?" he finally shouted as he then tore out of the pilothouse and pushed past the others still milling on the deck. His face reflected such anger and darkness of spirit that the others moved out of his way without complaint while he strode to the bow of the ship and stood staring at the waters ahead.

Derrick called down to Caspar to see if they couldn't get any more speed out of the engine while he prayed they'd pick up a good steady southerly wind soon. They needed it. The Lady Ambergris II picked up speed as she headed north. Even the wind finally seemed to cooperate and Derrick cut the engine off as the wind lent them wings.

----


	55. Chapter Fifty Two

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

**Niebos, the villa:**

"Where's Greg?" a frantic Grace asked as Phillip and Eleanor ran onto the grounds and through the opened front door.

Phillip glanced at Eleanor and then swallowed hard as he tried to explain. "We've lost him… him and Sarah. Nestor… Valeraine… is also loose. And something else that we haven't identified."

Grace turned and began to sob. John enfolded her in a comforting embrace.

"Something else? May be what hit the hospital," Katherine suggested and then looked upward as another _crack_ sounded from the volcano.

"The hospital?" Eleanor asked and was filled in.

Phillip shook his head. "I need to make certain my people are evacuating. I have to get to the village." He glanced at Eleanor who backed up and shook her head.

"The children."

Phillip nodded. "Get them all ready and bring them down to the docks. We may not have long."

Katherine stepped forward. "I'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone. We can check the hospital too… see if anyone is alive after we make certain your people are evacuating."

Phillip nodded curtly as the two of them headed out the door and descended the path to the village.

Eleanor secured the door. "Keep watch… I'll get the children ready." With that she fled up the steps… already anxious and worried. Was something of Nestor in the children too? Marianna had been conceived at the cove. J.D. and the boys had been there when the waters receded before the _tsunami _hit. Were they all compromised?

She flung open the door and paused only a moment to observe the tableau of armed and unarmed small ones and children, before scooping Marianna into her arms. "Get a few things… we have to get off this island," she told the older ones. "Take only what you need… what you can easily carry." She whipped around as she carried Marianna to her room and began to fill a small bag with a few things. Behind her, Denara and Madrigal did the same.

"Is she loose?" Denara asked.

Eleanor nodded. She looked around with concern. Marianna clung to her crying. "Where's Jayne?"

"She went out for a walk this morning before the word came to stay here," Madrigal explained. "I haven't seen her."

Eleanor hugged Marianna more tightly. "Gods give me strength!" she prayed. Everything was falling apart.

_Courage!_ she sensed from Methos. _I'm coming!_ She took a deep breath and nodded. Right now… being certain the children were safe was what was truly important.

Turning, she hurried the children up, getting them downstairs to rejoin Grace and John. Grace clutched Hope; still weeping that Hope needed Greg and what were they to do now.

The walls shook and items fell from tables, pictures from walls; all went crashing to the floor.

"The tremors are getting stronger," John commented. "We may be better off outside anyway."

Agreeing, Eleanor led the way out onto the _portico_ and then down onto the grounds. Behind them, an intermittent spume of mud, rock and ash continued to skyrocket heavenward. So far it wasn't imminently dangerous… but it could become so at a moments notice. It might depend on what happened at the grove between Valeraine and Greg. If either one killed the other one… their actions might be enough to blow the whole mountain. The group of immortals and children ran down the path to the village, where the streets were flooded with people racing to get aboard the numerous boats and fishing trawlers.

Just as they reached the village, Eleanor saw Jayne trying to fight the crowd to get back up. As she met the young Watcher, she hugged her with one arm, letting her tears of relief fall. "I was so afraid for you."

"I'm fine. I came here after my walk about the same time the mountain blew. It's not really going to erupt is it? I need to get to the villa to get the chronicles."

"No!" shouted Eleanor even as she winced at another loud crack from the formerly dormant volcano. "Your life and your knowledge are far more important than some record." She turned her and pressed the young woman along with them.

Near the dock, they joined Katherine and Phillip who were helping to organize the chaos and to be certain the boats were filled… but not overloaded.

"There you are," Phillip called out to them. I've got room for the lot of you saved on Stefano's fishing boat." He gestured to a grizzled sailor at the far end of the dock and gave him a wave.

"We can't all go," Eleanor insisted. "We have to find and stop Nestor and whoever somehow."

"Not all of us will go," Phillip said firmly clasping her arms. "But you and Grace and the children _are_ going."

"I'm a good fighter!" she insisted.

"Best I ever saw," Phillip agreed. "But this isn't about fighting. This is about survival. Nestor and whatever he's done is my responsibility. Yours is to take care of the children. They need you."

Eleanor shook her head. "Jayne can take care of them. You need me."

"I need to know you are safe. Now stop arguing!" Phillip pulled her along toward the fishing boat. Eleanor could see that Stefano had off-loaded anything unessential and was helping people aboard. His crew was throwing furniture and large cases overboard where they floated on the choppy surface of the waves. "Go!" Phillip ordered.

Eleanor followed Grace and Jayne up the gangplank. The small ones hesitated. Phillip leaned down and picked up Denara. "You have to go small one. This isn't your battle… not this time." He kissed her brow and then handed her to Stefano who handed her to another crewman on deck.

Kenny stepped back and shook his head. He pointed to the ground and stomped a foot.

"Aye lad," Phillip said with a nod. "You're quite the fighter. You can stay if you wish."

Kenny's eyes glittered and he grinned broadly.

"What about us?" Denis said.

"We can fight," Chou chimed in.

Phillip shook his head. "I need you two to help watch over the others in case someone or something gets by me."

Their faces fell.

Micah grabbed Madrigal. "Go on. They will need you. You know you can't fight well."

Madrigal paled and then through her arms around Micah's neck. "Be careful."

Micah hugged her. "I will be." He released her so that she could board the ship.

Stefano called for them to cast off. He turned and with a bow, shook Phillip's hand. Then he leaped aboard and called out orders.

As the fishing boat got under way, Eleanor stared at the small group of immortals still on the dock… Phillip, John, Katherine, Kenny, and Micah. She bit her lip, wondering if she would see any of them again or if they would be lost like Greg, Valeraine… or even Sarah. Her heart seemed to twist within her in guilt. She should be on that dock with them. Phillip was wrong. This was also her fight.

"Mama?" Marianna said in her arms.

Eleanor met her daughter's quiet gaze.

The child held up her crystal in her chubby hands. "It's okay. Daddy's coming. Daddy will make it all right." She nodded soberly.

Denara hugged Eleanor's hips and sobbed. Jayne and Madrigal sat to either side of a weeping Grace who clutched her tiny bundle close to her. "It's not right! It's just not right!"

Eleanor sighed. No… it wasn't. J.D. leaned on the railing next to her, Chou and Denis… his companions and friends on the far side… as if to watch over him. Denis looked up at her and nodded as if to assure her that they would protect J.D. no matter what.

"Please, madam. Please have a seat over here," one of the sailors said, holding out a hand to help her and the others. Eleanor looked back at the dock… but the immortals had moved on and she could no longer see them. Without comment, she followed the sailor to a covered hatch where she sat with tears in her eyes, rocking as she held tightly to Marianna.

-----

Phillip cleared his throat. "We have to check the hospital next. Nikos will keep people in line here." He laid a hand gently on Kenny's shoulder. "I'm glad you remained. I wouldn't have asked you to… but I knew we needed another cunning warrior in our group."

Kenny opened his mouth as if to say something and then shook his head. His reasons for remaining were entirely his own. He glanced at Micah who winked at him. Hopefully he'd keep his secret for the time being. Not that it probably mattered any more… but still… why give up an advantage until he had to.

After leaving the docks, and the crowd behind, the immortals made good time up to the hospital. In the distance, the church bell still peeled and the mountain continued its periodic hiccups of smoke, mud, and ash.

"It hasn't gotten any worse," John was saying. "It might not."

"Depends on what happens," Phillip explained. "I didn't want to take any chances with mortal lives and with those of the children."

"I quite agree," John nodded. "So who killed Greg?"

Phillip shook his head. "He still had his head the last I saw him. But he seemed possessed… just as Valeraine did. We didn't dare kill either of them. He might be all right… unless he kills her."

"There's blood on the glass doors," Micah said as he pointed it out. All of them drew their swords and glanced at Phillip.

"Don't behead and don't kill unless you have to. We need to capture and contain somehow." He nodded then, his jaw set firmly as they entered the silent hospital.

He moved them off in groups. John and Katherine took one corridor while he, Kenny and Micah took the other. They passed bloodied corpses and noted the slices. Whoever had done this had been fast, efficient, and thorough.

When they heard a _thump_ and a muffled cry, Katherine and John eased into the emergency room area. There they found a naked woman crawling on the floor and sobbing. Sensing them… she looked up in stark terror.

"Brynn," Katherine said in surprise as she sheathed her sword and knelt beside the woman. "Are we glad to see you."

Brynn shook her head and rolled onto her back… holding up her arms. "Look at me!" she screamed. "Look what he did! He killed Dieter! He killed Sean! With no challenge… no warning. He just came at us and killed them. Then he… he… used me and beat me. And look what he did!" By this time they'd seen her legs as well.

"What sort of immortal are we facing," Katherine said with a shake of her head.

"He wasn't immortal!" Brynn sobbed. "Just some maniac who knew what we were and how to stop us!"

John whipped a blanket off a nearby bed and handed it to Katherine to wrap around Brynn. He glanced around. If _he'd_ been setting this up… _he'd_ have been waiting for them to concentrate on her and then he'd attack. But no attack came.

"He said he'd be back for me if the rest of you didn't just kill me!" Brynn sobbed into Katherine's shoulder. Her shoulders shook and the cry of her sobs brought Phillip and the two small ones.

John had never seen Phillip look so pale as when he saw what had happened. The Greek looked about the bloody trauma area and shook his head. He wiped his eyes. "I should have dealt with him centuries ago. But I kept waiting… hoping that an answer… another way would come."

"She says he's mortal," John added.

Phillip shook his head. "He's not mortal. He may no longer be one of us… but he's not mortal."

Kenny crouched next to Brynn. Of this group, only he and Phillip had seen what Nestor was truly capable of in terms of degradation and mutilation. Idly his eyes traveled over the biker's handicaps. If she asked for an honorable death… he'd gladly give it to her. In her current state… she was a hindrance and not a help. He'd do it and let the others continue to feel self-righteous about not doing it. He caught Brynn's gaze and nodded. Hopefully she knew he'd help her… that he'd be happy to help her out of her current condition. Besides… killing a female immortal always gave him such interesting dreams for a while.

He licked his lips in anticipation. It had been far too long since he'd taken a head.

Brynn scuttled back away from him. "Don't let him near me. He wants to kill me!" she screamed.

"Back away Kenny. She doesn't want death yet. Time may come when she asks for it… but not yet."

Kenny growled up at the swordmaster but rose and backed away.

"If he's not immortal… then we can kill him… right?" Micah asked.

"I wonder," murmured Phillip. "Maybe he is true evil that just awaits his first death. Right now… he's a bit handicapped and trying to do the worst he can… upset us so that we'll kill him."

"How then do we deal with something that cannot be killed?" John asked curiously.

Phillip shook his head. If he knew the answer to that… he'd have done it long ago. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the faces of Nestor that he'd known… faces before they were twisted by evil and hate. Even Nestor hadn't seemed truly evil when he'd first met him. Perhaps the demon had only begun to take possession of his soul. Barak… the beautiful young man he'd loved… Nick Wolfe… earnest and noble… crippled even worse than this young woman… and finally the laughing child, Valeraine. He'd so wanted her to be free of the evil… that he'd let his guard down and the monster had freed himself. Now there were two of them loose. He closed his eyes and shuddered. _How many more? How many angels dance on the head of a pin? How many demons strive to destroy the world?_

"I will find a way. There has to be a way of stopping him," Phillip murmured aloud… promising to himself and to the others that they'd find a way. Meanwhile… he had to decide what to do with Brynn. He couldn't take her with them. He didn't want to leave her alone here. She was too vulnerable. But he really couldn't spare anyone. They were too few as it was.

Micah touched his arm. "I'll stay. I'm the least experienced… and I won't just take her head."

Phillip held his breath, aware that Kenny had snarled and looked away. The Greek crouched next to Brynn. "We have to go now. We have to hunt him down and end this. We can't take you with us… but I don't want to leave you unprotected. What do you want?"

Brynn's tearful eyes met his. "I don't want to die… but I can't live like this." She raised an arm. "I can't compete. My lovers' quickenings are within me and they want this monster dead for what he did. Take my head Phillip of Niebos. Take my head so that I will be with you when you kill him and know that he is dead."

Phillip nodded sadly and rose, drawing his shortsword.

Kenny tried to push forward with a snarl, but Katherine and John held him back. His eyes glared at the swordmaster.

"I promise you," Phillip said to Brynn, "You will live in me and I will not rest until the monster has been destroyed." He lifted his sword high. She rose awkwardly onto her knees and bowed her head. Phillip took a deep breath and swung down with all of his might. The sword's arc hesitated only when it met her neck and then cleanly sliced through it. She fell to one side… her head to the other.

Phillip spread his arms and roared as her quickening rose to embrace him. Three tendrils of power wove like snakes about him. He screamed into the maelstrom as it whipped and shot into him again and again. He knew them now. Sean… Dieter… Brynn. Through their eyes he saw their love for one another. Through their eyes he saw each one's utter acceptance and trust of the other two. In many ways… they were indeed one. The excess crackled like blue flame about him and then _whooshed_ as it blew out the emergency room windows.

Once it was over, Phillip of Niebos turned and strode powerfully out of the hospital. "Let's get this monster," he said with gritted teeth.

Quietly the other four followed him.

High overhead, the mountain belched smoke and the crater trembled in anticipation of what was to come.

-----


	56. Chapter Fifty Three

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

**Athens, Greece:**

Joe Dawson had left Paris early that morning on a non-stop flight into Athens. He hadn't taken one of the new high-altitude flights… he hated flying as it was… but he wanted to get to Greece and to Methos and Eleanor. He'd wanted to set his mind at ease and be certain they were fine. _And_… he wanted to know if they'd learned anything about MacLeod.

At the terminal in Paris, Amy had stared in silent resignation after him and he knew that he'd have to work hard to rebuild that sense of trust and family they'd had in recent years. Burt had just stared… as if wondering how Amy would take it if something happened to Joe and she wasn't there. Messing with the immortals and their lives had nearly cost him his life on several occasions and left him in weakened shape the last several years. Still he had to go.

Earlier this morning, he'd hugged the grandkids as they left for school… telling them he would be gone a few days and could he bring them anything. Their light-hearted requests were written on his heart. He'd driven his motorized chair down the gangway and had transferred to a seat. While he'd buckled in, his chair had been taken to cargo. He'd gripped his cane as if it were a lifeline, losing it only for the short time they were on take-off.

The landing in Athens had been the same thing in reverse… except that no one was there to welcome him. Instead he noticed people rushing about fearfully and crowds in front of plasma television sets in various lounges. He hadn't stopped to wonder what it was about. He drove to baggage and picked up his small bag before driving out of the terminal to flag a taxi.

"I need the wharf where the ferry to the surrounding islands docks," he managed in halting Greek to the driver. He sat in the front seat next to him, his chair in the trunk of the car. At the dock, he eased back into his chair… paid the driver and wheeled down to the wharf. He stopped when he saw two people talking to an official at the ferry. The man turned to leave; the woman turned also, but saw him staring at her. Joe glanced away and headed for the official at the ramp, aware that the two had walked off but had stopped to talk a short distance away.

"Niebos," he said to the official with a smile. He waved a hand with his phrasebook toward the ferry.

The man shook his head and spit out a torrent of information that Joe just couldn't quite catch.

"It's not running right now," a feminine voice said in English. Joe glanced over his shoulder into the face of Reagan Cole. _Damn… busted_, he thought.

He'd never actually met Reagan Cole face to face… but as one of Duncan MacLeod's occasional lady friends over the centuries… he knew her face from the chronicles. She smiled as she lightly touched his wrist. He nodded as he turned his wrist over to display his tattoo as Watcher's were told to do now if an immortal asked if they were members of the organization.

"Follow me. We need to talk," she said with a curt nod of her head. "That's Steven Keane. He doesn't know about you guys yet."

Joe's eyes narrowed at the young-looking blonde man who he knew had once tried to kill Duncan MacLeod, but said nothing as he wheeled up to him. He'd play this one by Reagan's rules.

She led the way to a _cantina_ with an open air seating area. She moved chairs out of the way for Joe's wheelchair to edge up to the table and then had a seat. After they'd ordered drinks and a light lunch, Reagan leaned forward.

"Do you know about Niebos?" she asked him, cautiously.

Joe nodded over his drink. "I was headed there," he said.

"What is this place you're talking about," Steven said curtly.

"Just a place where some immortal friends of mine live," Regan replied a bit cautiously. She glanced at Joe.

"Yeah… friends," Joe agreed. He then grinned widely, showing his famous chipped-tooth smile as he reached out a hand. "Joe… Dawson. I'm a close friend of…"

"Don't tell me," Keane said shaking his head. "Duncan MacLeod," he added on with a sigh.

"Uh… yeah." Joe looked at a shrugging Reagan.

"Everyone we meet these days seems to be Duncan's friends," she laughed.

"Our kind and evidently yours," Keane said with exasperation.

"Yeah… well he's an honorable man who wants the best for all of us." Joe retorted a bit angrily. "Get off that nearly three hundred year grudge you've got and see the truth!"

Keane's eyes widened as he met Joe's gaze. "I beg your pardon."

"You heard me!" Joe snapped and then turned to Reagan. "So why isn't the ferry running?"

Reagan's eyes widened. "You don't know? We heard the news shortly after we flew into Athens. I don't know which island it is… but one of them has a volcano that's making eruption noises. The seas are rough and the ferry company doesn't want to take anyone out there to any of the islands."

"Volcano!" said Joe as he sat back and rubbed his beard and scalp. "Damn. I think Niebos is on a volcano… although it's been dormant for centuries."

He noticed Steven Keane looking from one of them to the other. "You know… you can be honest with me. What's this all about Reagan?" the immortal asked.

"I told you. I'd contacted someone I know there about MacLeod. He's usually very prompt in his replies and I hadn't heard back from him in days. I was worried," Reagan replied.

"Evidently with good reason. What do you know about MacLeod?" Joe asked.

Reagan looked at him for a long moment. "He's had his hands full and been in trouble in Russia and in Hong Kong. We rescued him twice. We left him in Burma… in Mandalay."

Joe let out a breath that he felt like he'd been holding for months. "Mac's okay." He pulled a handkerchief and blew his nose. "He has this habit of going off on his own to solve problems. Any idea what it was this time?"

Reagan slowly shook her head. Joe noted her guarded expression. If she knew anything… she wasn't saying.

"So how do you know MacLeod," Keane asked him.

"Saved my life a few times. Helluva guy," Joe said with a curt nod and a twinkle in his eye. He wadded the handkerchief up and returned it to his pocket.

Keane raised both eyebrows. "So you say." He lifted his glass of _ouzo_ and drank it down sharply. Evidently he wasn't buying the story.

"So… no bars in Greece?" Reagan suddenly asked him. Joe had the feeling she'd kicked Keane's leg under the table.

"Sorry… no," Keane said flatly.

"Well… maybe next time. However… how's about we try to hire a boat after we eat."

"Are you crazy?" Keane asked. Joe swallowed the same retort as he sipped his beer.

"Crazy like a fox. We pay some enterprising guide to take us out and help us 'rescue' refugees. Surely that would work." Her eyes twinkled merrily.

"Why do I think I should visit the bank and make a hefty withdrawal," Keane muttered.

"Well I did try to get you to go on to Rome with the plane and that I'd meet you there. You were the one who insisted I might need your help."

He smiled warmly at her and winked. "Well… I expect several long winter's nights in payment."

"Believe me… if we manage this… I'll even throw in a summer," Reagan laughed.

-----

Two hours later, a fast-moving small cruiser normally rented for island-hopping tourist excursions, cut through the choppy waters. Once again, Steven Keane's way with bribes had gotten them what they wanted. Reagan had tried to convince Joe to remain in Athens. He'd refused. He'd come this far… he wasn't stopping now. He parked the wheel chair at the slip where the boat was moored and using his cane, had stood and then walked easily to the boat. "I might need some help here, though," he admitted. He got it and then settled on a swivel chair in the stern. The captain gave him a life jacket and then had set forth into the Aegean.

In the distance, and getting closer, Joe could see the plume of white smoke rising in the air. "Still basically steam… not too serious yet," he mumbled.

"Maybe… but if that's Niebos… then I need to find out what is happening there," Reagan replied thoughtfully.

"I'd say Phillip may have his hands full," Joe said hesitantly.

Reagan started slightly and then smiled at him. "Sometime I forget how much you people know."

"Generally…" Joe admitted. "We're not the enemy. Just a bunch of history buffs."

Reagan laughed clearly for the first time he'd see today. "Oh… now see… that's an understatement if I ever heard one. So what do you know about me?"

Joe's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Well I know you had MacLeod tied to a bed the first time you met him," he chuckled.

Reagan blushed. "Ah yes… my wicked, wicked youth."

She settled on the cushioned bulkhead near him. "You have to understand. My introduction to your organization wasn't exactly friendly."

"I know," Joe admitted with a nod. "Some very bad people got control and they nearly ruined everything for all of us."

Reagan stared at Steven who was himself staring out at the sea and at the heavily laden boats they were passing as they closed in on the small island that was even now sounding either its death knell… or growing pains. "I don't know how to really tell him about you. I need to if we're going to spend time together. Damn! It didn't used to be this hard."

Steven left the side of the boat and slid onto the bulkhead next to Reagan. "I thought I sensed at least one of us in that flotilla of ships we just passed. Shall I have the captain slow down and come about."

Reagan shook her head. "Phillip wouldn't leave until all of his people were safe. He's still there." She leaned on her thighs, clenched her hands, and set her jaw as she worried about what lay chained in the sacred cove. She was glad she was armed with steel as well as firearms and worried about what she might yet have to do… or face.

-----

**Niebos, the cove:**

The gentle feel of someone's hands massaging him… pinching him… rubbing him… finally nudged Greg Powers enough that his mind cleared, he gasped in air, and arched his hips into the air. "Grace? Sarah?" Someone was sitting on him… arousing him.

He focused finally and saw a hideous-looking dwarf straddling him. "Come on Gregor!" she crowed. "F--k me!"

He angrily pushed her off of him and rolled to one side… slowly regaining his feet. Greg felt sick and a sour taste was in his mouth. He swallowed his gorge as he pulled his jeans back over his hips and buttoned them. His t-shirt had been sliced and partially ripped off of him. He tore off the remnants. Looking around in confusion, he tried to think what had happened. His gaze fell on the torn and bloody fabric of Sarah Manning's negligee… floating in the water. He snarled at the creature who held her sides and laughed hysterically as she rolled back and forth. She still wore his sweater… stretched and wet it hung over her small body. He picked up his rapier.

She swiftly was on her knees… facing him and inclining her head. "Oh yes Gregor. Get it over with. You know you want to."

He swung back and then hesitated. "What did you do to Sarah?"

The creature looked up at him with a wide grin. Her voice rasped still from its lack of use. "Same thing you did. Only I drew her to me willingly and filled her with anticipation. I did what you did to Grace. I made her fertile. And then I left her for another to impregnate. The child that was born is something special… just as they all are. Of course… he grew to manhood in a single night. Poor Sarah just couldn't contain him for very long. She nourished him. She fed him with all she was. I listened to her scream until he finally ripped his way out of her."

Greg made to swing again. Again the creature laughed. "And we were having such fun while you were dead." Her cackles felt like nails on a chalkboard as they sounded before him.

Greg felt disgusted… with her… with himself. The land still trembled underfoot; high above him, the steam and smoke still rose. "If I kill you… what happens?" he asked her.

"My quickening joins yours. I will live in a far more powerful body… one that is capable of fighting and killing the others on their terms," she laughed. "But we can talk about that later. We'll have loads of time to talk once we are one."

The rapier slipped from his hands as he twisted them into his hair and howled in denial. Behind his closed eyes he focused on the one being he truly and unequivocally loved… Hope. Slowly he backed away from the monster. He wanted nothing to do with her. If she lived in him… he'd lose Hope… he might even kill her.

Valeraine laughed as she bent over to pick up his rapier. Wickedly she glanced at him. "A bit thin for my taste… but nice and long." She winked and then squatted as she turned the blade until it eased between her legs.

Angrily he snatched it back and slammed the hilt against her head. The resounding _crack _forced her head back. Her expression went slack as she collapsed. Greg knelt and felt her pulse. "Still alive. You can't grow stronger unless I kill you. I won't do that… not even temporarily." He shuddered as he grabbed the remnants of Sarah's bloody negligee and tore it into strips. Then he tied the creature's hands and feet together and stuffed a wad of fabric into her mouth before tying on a tight gag. "So I don't have to listen to you."

He couldn't do this alone. He wasn't even certain he was clear-headed enough to do it at all… but he'd have to try. He had to get her away from the cove… off of holy ground… and he had to find Phillip. _And_ he had to do it before she grew too strong on her own. What he needed was a secure place to put her.

Greg pulled the limp body onto his shoulder and then regained his feet. He stood breathing heavily a moment… she seemed to weigh as much as a full-grown man. Shaking his head to clear it of the memories of Sarah's whispers about Eleanor and what he should do to her… Greg Powers splashed through the shallow waters still covering the beach path. He was headed toward town.

-----

Using Brynn's memories and his own knowledge of the island, Phillip unerringly led the others to a waterfall that sprang out of crack in the mountain and pooled in a small glen. There they found three bodies. Two were the beheaded immortals… naked in the white sand that surrounded the now-bubbling and steaming pool. Where the waterfall had once dropped crystal clear, cold water, it now belched a muddy sulfurous miasma.

Phillip stood for a moment over the third body… that of a young boy. It had been partially eaten. "He's been here since leaving the hospital."

"How do you know," Micah said. He'd gagged at the sights and smells of this once idyllic spot.

"It wasn't here the last time Brynn saw it… and the body is a fresh kill… perhaps only minutes old," Phillip replied. He glared about the glen, noting the dying bushes… drying out from the heat and poisoned by the water. He grit his teeth and looked around. "Where the devil would you go next?" he murmured.

"These neck wounds look a bit ragged," Katherine, crouched next to the immortals' bodies commented, speaking up. "He didn't use a sword or a knife."

Phillip had a flash of net over his eyes and felt for a moment the slicing of a trident. "He's using my fishing gear," he said. "I left it over on the far side of the island. He found it and is using it." He turned and stared around him at the island… hearing only the dull roar of the mountain. It seemed to have calmed a bit. Perhaps Greg and Valeraine hadn't killed one another after all. But was it enough to let the volcano recover and lie dormant again? His eyes traveled to the crater. He needed to see how bad it was.

"She said he was mortal," John was saying quietly. "If he's mortal… we wouldn't feel him."

"He's not mortal," Phillip insisted. "He's not one of us… but he's not mortal."

"What is he then?" Katherine asked as she stood up.

"Something older than immortals… something that wants to claim this world again for his own debaucheries," Phillip said with a shake of his head. "Come on. Stay together. It may take all of us to stop him." He strode along the path leading to the summit.

The others followed him without a word.

-----

As soon as the immortals had vanished from the now parched glen, his head rose from the water… covered with mud. He blinked his red eyes as he watched them vanish and then he moved toward the shore where he emerged from the muddy waters.

"Interrupted my snack-time," he snickered as he watched them vanish along the path. He nudged the boy's body. He'd been a real find… running alone along one of the many paths that crisscrossed the island. The body was spoiled now. He liked them fresh… very fresh. Well… there was that delicious looking one among the immortals… the cherubic one with the blonde hair. And then of course there was the older boy. He could eat one and the other. Between his legs he felt an erection. He had planned to change clothes… but who needed clothes now! The mortals were all gone… fled in their flimsy boats. He had no reason to hide! But there were still the immortals he could play with.

One by one he would rid this world of them. One by one they would fall to his deadly stealth and his weapons. One by one he would devour them until only he remained. Once he alone dwelt on this island… his dark father would return in all his glory.

Grinning up at the summit, he threw back his head and laughed deeply. It was good to be alive again. It was good to have form again. Then he hefted the wet net and the sharpened trident as he crouched slightly and began to run powerfully along the path after them.

-----


	57. Chapter Fifty Four

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

**Burma:**

The road… such as it was… ended before a two-storied plantation house whose exterior walls were filled with shuttered floor-to-ceiling windows. In disrepair… the house looked to be deserted.

When Tran turned off the ignition, Duncan could hear the sounds of wildlife in the surrounding jungle… macaws, tigers, monkeys, and other animals he didn't immediately identify. He opened the rear door and climbed out, staring at the house.

"I don't feel them," he murmured to Amanda.

"Maybe they've moved on again," she whispered quietly.

Duncan shook his head. "No… they're still here… look." He pointed to where a small late model car was parked beside the house. It was newer and in better shape than the one they'd come in. Duncan moved toward it and opened the door. A swift look around inside and he came up with the keys. He started the car, noting the nearly full tank of gas. Then he turned it off.

"Sun… you and Tran return to the village."

Kiem Sun stared at Duncan evenly and then turned to hand Tran some gold coins as he gestured for him to leave. Sun didn't move as the little man started his own car and drove off.

"I said for you to go as well," Duncan seethed as he towered over Kiem Sun.

"You would be lost before you got halfway back," Sun replied. "I watched the turns and landscape carefully as we came in. Did you?"

Duncan sniffed as he looked away. He hadn't, of course. It had all seemed the same to him. He pointed toward the house. "Let's check it anyway." He led the way, followed by Sun. Amanda brought up the rear. She and Duncan drew their swords as they climbed onto the covered verandah where Duncan pushed at the rain swollen and rotting door until it opened slightly. The immortals eased through the opening.

Dust mites floated in the air and the walls exhibited mold and mildew. Amanda sneezed and covered her nose and mouth. "This is disgusting. Surely they didn't stay here."

"It's like most of his other properties. I don't think he realizes that they require upkeep when he's gone."

"Do you smell something?" Amanda asked wrinkling her nose. "Something fruity and rotten?" She looked about in the shadows of the room fearfully. All three immortals recognized that smell… a rotting corpse.

Duncan led the way as they moved through room after room of broken furniture and rotting fabric. Finally opening a panel door to what might have once been a formal dining room… they found it… slumping over the table and the detritus of a meal… rotting, a host for insects and vermin.

Amanda turned away and then strode toward the shuttered windows, breaking one and unhooking the secured shutters to cast them open and let in light and fresh air. She stood breathing in the fresher air and relishing the sunlight before she turned back; her foot hit something. Glancing down, she stared at the severed head of Alistair Craille. A small green snake slithered out of his open mouth, hissed at her and then slithered through the open window. Amanda pulled her foot back, gasped and then closed her eyes as she counted to ten before rejoining the men at the table.

"He must have been surprised," Kiem Sun said. "Look at him… seated at a table, his sword nowhere in sight."

"Someone he trusted," Duncan mumbled, recalling the story Kate had told him of Kell's 'last supper' with his followers. He looked around. He still didn't feel an immortal here… and yet there was something. "Kiem… check the kitchen and the other rooms down here. If you finish before we do, check the outlying buildings. Amanda… you come with me… second floor." He strode purposely out of the dining room followed by Amanda.

The wooden stairs were rotting… some of them showed where someone's foot had broken through them. At the top of the stairs, Duncan again closed his eyes to feel someone else. Nothing. "Amanda check the rooms to the left… I'll go right," he ordered in a clipped tone. He pivoted and started off.

Amanda watched him go, sensing his over-riding concern for Kate and her baby… his focus on them… and swallowed her sob. Now was no time to make him laugh. He'd hate her for it. She turned and began checking the upstairs rooms.

-----

Kiem Sun's gaze followed the others up the stairs and then returned to the body of the man he had once known briefly. "You weren't even wearing your sword," Kiem muttered as he prodded the body with his staff and wrinkled his nose at the smell. "One should always be vigilant," he added thoughtfully, "Even if one no longer needs a sword." He grasped his staff firmly and looked around the room, trying to read the signs of what was there. Two people had eaten… the dirty dishes confirmed it. And then whoever else had been here had suddenly taken Craille's head in the midst of the meal. Or had someone come in from the kitchen and attacked? If so… what had happened to the other one… the woman MacLeod was searching for?

He shook his head and then proceeded into the kitchen. What food he found there had long since spoiled in the moist heat. Rats skittered around his feet and scurried to openings in the floor and walls. Snakes hissed on the counters over discarded dishes.

Once more Sun shook his head as he continued his search. After he finished searching the rest of the downstairs rooms, he glanced up stairs and then headed out onto the grounds. There were several other rotting structures to be searched.

-----

Once separated from Amanda, Duncan could almost feel a slight immortal presence… light… almost pre-immortal… but not quite. He focused on that tantalizing wisp of presence and eased down the hallway corridor. He didn't know what to expect. While he had seen Eleanor late in her second pregnancy… she'd been positively bursting with power at the time. Even Grace whom he'd seen early in hers had felt the same way. He'd felt obligated to protect each of them. He'd actually been jealous watching others lay hands on their abdomens with rapt expressions on their faces. Finally reaching a closed door… swollen from moisture… Duncan paused and brought his _katana_ up vertically before him.

"Amanda," he whispered down the hall, turning to catch her gaze. He gestured toward the door with his head and then took a deep breath and kicked it open. It screamed on rusty hinges resisting his attempt to open it. He leaned his shoulder against the door; it opened a few inches. Duncan kicked again, noticing that the wood disintegrated into moldy powder where his foot connected with it. He rammed his shoulder into the door and pushed with a strangled scream. The door slowly groaned open.

By this time, Amanda had joined him. The room inside was dark and as silent as all the rooms had been.

"Kate?" Duncan called tentatively into the darkness… his fears growing. Something shifted weakly on a canopied bed with a murmur. A pale, thin hand flopped off one side of the bed and hung there.

"Amanda, get the shutters. Get some light in here," Duncan ordered as he closed in on the bed. He brushed aside the rotting mosquito netting even as Amanda opened the shutters so that beams of light shone into the dark room.

It was Kate.

Duncan hastily sheathed his _katana_ as he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. If he'd thought she was thin before… now she was skeletal… except for the clear sign of her advanced pregnancy. He laid a hand on her belly… trying to sense if either of them were still alive. He felt a slight movement and then a slight pull on his life force. Quickening crackled at his fingertips.

By this time Amanda had joined them on the other side of the bed. "She looks horrible."

"Whoever killed Alistair must not have known she was here. He didn't kill her," Duncan felt a sob in his throat as he pushed strands of her filthy hair from her face. "But she's not eaten in days. Get some water at least."

Amanda put a hand on Kate's belly. "I think we need to get that baby out of her before we do anything else."

Duncan glanced up at her sharply. "It's not time! She's not far enough along! Now get the damned water!"

Amanda pulled back. "I did work as a mid-wife a few times, Duncan. This baby needs to come out… or he'll die when she does. I can't even sense any immortality about her. They are both starving to death."

"Get the damned water!" Duncan thundered again and then moved his hands to hug Kate to him. "Kate… I'm so sorry. 'Tis all my fault. Ah should have stayed with yoo. Ah should have been there all along. Ah should never have left yoo alone." His voice began to betray the Highland brogue of his youth. He was barely aware that Amanda had left. He hugged his former wife's body to him and sat rocking back and forth with her in his arms.

Finally Kate's eyes fluttered and opened dully. Her mouth slacked open and one thin hand rose to feebly touch his face. "Duncan," she breathed out. "You came."

"Of course I came. I should have been here all along. You shouldn't have been left on your own."

Kate sighed against him. "You made it possible." Her hand dropped to her abdomen. "He's my miracle. Take care of him."

"I'll take care of you both. I won't leave you ever again."

Kate closed her eyes with a contented sigh. Her head lolled against him. Hearing steps outside the room, he glanced up as both Amanda and Kim Sun entered the bedroom, their arms laden with water and some clean towels that Duncan wondered that they'd even found.

"A mortal woman. She looks close to term," Kiem observed as he set the basin of water on the moldy bedside table. "Perhaps I should see about building a fire and boiling the water."

"I doubt there's time Kiem, " Amanda said smoothly as she climbed onto the bed and shifted Kate's hips and legs until she knelt between them. She shook out the clean towels she'd found and lay them over Kate's legs and on the bed itself between them. "Duncan… I'm not kidding. We have to get this baby out of her." Her dark eyes met his brown ones.

_Now!_ she sent powerfully to him.

Duncan nodded and changed position so that she had a clear field while he held Kate's head, shoulders and arms in his embrace. "Kiem… go start that fire in case we do need it," he crisply ordered the Oriental.

Kiem Sun watched the two immortals prepare to deliver a baby and then bowed as he retreated out the door. Something was odd about this situation… and yet it was important to the future somehow. He shook his head as he descended the rotting steps. He had a fire to build.

-----

Amanda lifted a small knife and held it in the flame of a lighter she'd found. She watched the blue flame curl and spark on the sharpened metal. She'd honed it as sharply as she could. "It's been well over a century since I did this," she mumbled, her mind still trying to grasp and recall what to do.

"You mean you don't know what you're doing?" Duncan managed to gasp out through a strangled cry.

"Well I know… it's just been a while. I was never really interested in this… but sometimes it was necessary." She closed the now hot lighter and sighed, meeting his gaze as she laid the knife against the base of Kate's bulging abdomen. She took a deep breath. "She's immortal… she'll heal. The main thing is to get the baby out of her."

"I don't sense her," Duncan murmured as his fingers caressed Kate's face.

"Neither do I… it might be something to do with the baby. It looks like he's drained her of quickening. Remember how Methos and Eleanor were just before J.D. was born? He wouldn't leave her side and he looked almost gaunt. If Alistair was killed… Kate had no help. She was alone." She sucked in a breath… held it… and then began to slice through the taut and stretched layers of skin. Blood began to thickly ooze out.

"Be careful! Don't hurt him!" Duncan worried.

"That's why I'm cutting here," Amanda said, blotting away the blood and then slicing more deeply through the muscles. "Higher up is faster… but I might hit him."

Watery fluid gushed out. Amanda thrust a hand into the cut and felt around, finally finding what she sought. "He's coming out foot first… hasn't turned yet," she muttered through gritted teeth and began to pull the baby toward her.

Kate shrieked. Awake now, she fought them both… trying to get her hands free… trying to hold the baby still within her.

"Relax Kate," Duncan whispered soothingly in her ear. "Just relax. It's going to be fine. We have to deliver him now."

"Bastards! Thieves!" she screamed into the air. She snarled at Duncan, scratching at his face with weak claw-like swipes. "You only want him for yourself!"

"That's not true," Duncan replied as he held her hands and laid his cheek near hers. "I'll take care of you both."

Amanda had both legs out now. She slipped both her hands up into the cut, trying to ease the limp child out. "Hold her steady. He's not moving," she said with a broken voice. Duncan grasped Kate more tightly.

Again Kate shrieked as she attempted once more to claw at him, at Amanda, and at herself. Her hips bucked up and down on the bed making further delivery almost impossible. Blood and amniotic fluid gushed with each move.

Duncan drew back one hand. "Forgive me," he intoned and thrust a fist into her face where it landed with a loud smack. Kate sagged… momentarily unconscious. "Hurry up," he muttered to Amanda.

"Yeah… I've had to use that form of anesthetic myself a few times," Amanda said… biting her tongue as she did so. This was no time for levity. The small cut had torn jaggedly in Kate's struggle. Amanda grabbed the slightly slimy feel of the baby and pulled him the rest of the way out. Laying him on the towels, she wiped at his face to clear his nose and mouth. He did not respond. She lowered her mouth to his head and began to gently blow. Still no response. Finally she lifted him by the ankles and patted his small rear end. Finally one hand moved back and forth and his little mouth opened. He began to shudder.

Amanda wrapped him in the towel even as a faint and weak cry finally began to utter from him. Her fingers caressed his face and she felt her inhibitions against children fade away as some part of her leaped to strengthen him. He was so weak… he needed so much. Finally she lifted her fingers and handed the wrapped bundle to Duncan. "I need to see to Kate now," she said.

Duncan grinned as he held him. Amanda could see crackles of quickening where his hands touched the baby. He sighed deeply… completely taken in by the bundle in his arms. Then Amanda turned her attention to Kate who was moaning slightly now. One of her hands fluttered to her deflated belly with a sigh.

"It's a boy Kate," Duncan told her. "You have to see him. He's perfect."

Kate nodded weakly and murmured, "I did everything I had to for him."

"Duncan," Amanda said sharply. "She's not healing. She's hemorrhaging badly."

Duncan shook his head. "No… she's immortal." But Amanda was right. He could sense that Kate's immortality had completely drained away… that only a dying mortal woman remained on the bed. He held the baby down for her to see. "Don't touch him. You have to get your strength back first."

With a weak smile, Kate nevertheless reached to pull the towel away from her son's face. "He looks like you. I wanted to name him Ian after your father."

"Aye… Ian Devaney it is then… or Ian Craille," Duncan replied. His eyes shifted to Amanda packing towels against the wound as she tried desperately to stop the bleeding.

"No… not Craille. He wouldn't give me what our child needed. So I took it," Kate hissed. Her eyes widened and her lip curled.

Duncan's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You killed him."

"I took his head and his quickening. Our son needed the power of the quickening to be born. If he wouldn't help… then he didn't deserve to live." She managed to touch the baby's face. "I had to protect my child. I had to feed him."

Duncan glanced at Amanda who tearfully shook her head. He handed the baby back to Amanda and pushed her out of the way. "Kate… try to heal. I'll try to help you. Focus on me." He vaguely recalled Methos saying something about having to heal Eleanor… strengthen her after the children were born. Maybe it had to be him. But try as he might… nothing happened. He could sense Amanda pacing about the room… the baby in her arms. He could hear her crooning softly to him.

Kate reached down for one of Duncan's hands on her and pulled at it. He moved back to her face. "Ya got to try Kate. Ya got to get well."

"It's too late, Duncan. But he's born now… my little miracle. You made it possible. You found a way to give me what I wanted. Take care of him. He's yours too." Her eyes fluttered and her hand dropped. She seemed to visibly relax.

"Kate! No!" yelled Duncan. His hands gripped either side of her face. "Kate, please… I canna do it alone. Kate."

"She's dead Duncan," Amanda said softly from where she was pacing.

"You know nothing!" he insisted and placed his lips over Kate's blowing air forcefully into her mouth and then placing his hands over her heart where he began compressions. "I won't let her die! I did this to her! I should have been here sooner."

Amanda said nothing. She watched him try CPR on the body while she paced and crooned… holding a very hungry little boy in her arms. She slipped her little finger into his fingers, which gripped hers weakly. The tip of her finger touched his lips. He began to suckle against it… but he needed real food… he needed mother's milk… he needed his father… he needed Duncan. Worriedly she continued to pace.

Outside, she could hear the crackle of a fire… and through the open windows, she saw the flames and smoke reach for the heavens. Behind her… Duncan finally stopped CPR and held Kate in his arms… as he wailed in guilt and remorse.

-----


	58. Chapter Fifty Five

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_:**

Ahead of them, Derrick could see the locks approaching that would allow them access to the canal itself and from there… to the Mediterranean. He called for the sails to be trimmed and powered up the engine to a bare crawl, all the while avoiding Methos' stormy glare. The ancient prowled about the cabin like a caged cat that wanted desperately to attack someone.

"They've evacuated," Methos mumbled, rubbing his temples. He'd returned to the pilothouse as they'd neared the locks. "At least Eleanor and the children have gone."

Alisaunne glanced up from the reader as he spoke. Derrick could see tear tracks on her cheeks.

"How bad can this Nestor be?" Derrick asked.

"Ever see that old film… **The Terminator**?" Alisaunne asked with a smirk. When Derrick shook his head, she continued. "How do you stop a killing machine that cannot be killed, cannot be reasoned with and will not ever stop?"

"You destroy it physically," Derrick replied with a shrug.

"Ah… but with an immortal quickening so strong he just keeps coming back. That's Nestor," she said, rubbing one of her forearms absently.

"Stopping Nestor somehow is Phillip's plan," Methos explained as he continued to pace. "But stopping the eruption… stopping it from blowing the island sky high… is also imperative." He closed his eyes as a small smile came across his face. He sighed.

"That's Eleanor reaching you somehow," Derrick said. Methos opened his eyes and nodded. "When I was still a boy… and you'd be gone… that was how she'd get sometimes." His brow puckered slightly as he thought of something. "That night in the hotel… the night Phillip and I thought you'd killed her… the blood was everywhere… that's when you…" His voice trailed away as his eyes met Methos' and then he looked at Alisaunne. "That's what this Nestor did to you as well… only you weren't immortal yet."

"No… but as soon as I was," Alisaunne sighed and tapped her head. "He was right here." She shut off the reader and laid it aside. "I keep wanting to find him and kill him… but if I do… I'm his for all time. Like I said… how do you stop something that cannot be stopped?"

Derrick shook his head. Then… hearing the sound of a helicopter overhead, he leaned forward to get a glimpse of it. "Damn he's persistent. I think our friend the Egyptian is back," he muttered. He could feel his presence now.

"I'll deal with him," Alisaunne hissed as she drew her _wakizashi_ and headed for the deck.

"No!" Methos yelled and grabbed her arm. "We're in sight of the locks. There are witnesses here. If a quickening goes off on this wooden boat… it will burn and sink. We'll be delayed."

"Oh," replied his daughter. She smirked slightly and then looked at Derrick, a dangerous glint in her eye. "You wouldn't happen to have a rocket launcher would you? I could shoot him out of the sky."

"You don't think that would garner us some unwanted attention?" the young immortal teased with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well… maybe a bit," she grinned back. "Still… I think I'll go out on deck."

"I'll join you," Methos mumbled. He glanced at Derrick. "Keep us moving… no matter what."

Derrick nodded. He understood that mindset all too well. It's what he'd told Ren and Gavin in the desert.

-----

As the ship slowed to a crawl… the helicopter maintained its position overhead. Raising his eyes to the sky and shielding them from the glare of the sun, Methos noted that it was not an armed chopper… just a transport one. What the hell did this immortal plan on doing?

As if in answer, a door on the chopper opened and the Egyptian climbed out in a harness that slowly began to lower him to the deck of the ship.

"Is he crazy?" Ren snarled. "He can't hope to survive if he joins us down here."

"I don't think survival is paramount in his thoughts," mumbled Methos. He knew something about obsessive immortals. Kronos had wanted a confrontation with MacLeod, once upon a time, even to the exclusion of his plans of world domination. Sometimes… a challenge just couldn't be avoided. Sometimes… a challenge was the only thing that truly mattered. He glanced around at the others… seeing murder in all of their eyes… especially in Cassandra's. "No one is to touch him. Get Caspar up here to deal with Burke." Closer and closer the Egyptian came… he was swaying a bit on the cable as the blades of the helicopter whipped up the surrounding seas with a forceful wind.

"He must die," hissed Cassandra.

"Perhaps. But his challenge is to Derrick… not to you," Methos replied. "Get Derrick," he told Masahiro.

By this time the Egyptian swayed just out of their reach. "Permission to come aboard," he shouted down almost pleasantly.

"Permission granted," Methos said, reaching up toward him. He was still just out of reach. "I guarantee your safety until the time and place of your challenge can be assured."

The Egyptian waved at the chopper and was immediately lowered to the deck where he hastily unhooked the harness and stepped from it. Once free, he waved again and the helicopter moved off… hovering not far away. "You don't mind if they keep watch for a bit do you?" he asked.

"I don't think there is anything we can do about that… is there?" Methos replied darkly.

"No," the Egyptian smiled. "Assuredly not." He turned as Derrick emerged from the pilothouse. "Ah… my young friend. It seems the fates keep interrupting us."

Derrick shook his head. "Not for much longer."

The Egyptian grinned and bowed with a chuckle. He rubbed his hands together as his gaze moved over the women. When he saw Michelle he licked his lips and reached to caress her face. "Oh… another one. You have quite the harem." Michelle backed away, her eyes wide with alarm.

"You know nothing," Derrick retorted grimly. He motioned to the others to stay back.

The Egyptian grinned and glanced at the flotilla of ships around them and the locks directly ahead. "How long until we reach the open seas on the far side of the lock?"

"Not long," Derrick replied. "Perhaps an hour or so. Have a seat over there. Keep a close eye on him," he ordered Methos as he returned to the pilothouse.

The Egyptian sat on a bulkhead and drew his scimitar. "For my own security only," he told the assembled immortals. "Perhaps one of you will enlighten me as to why there are so many of you in one place… and not taking heads?" He leaned back fluidly at ease and with a superior and yet oily smile.

Methos could hear Cassandra's growl. Amber had drawn her cutlass and was pacing back and forth. "Give me a reason," the young immortal hissed threateningly at the Egyptian under her breath. Alisaunne was deathly still… but Methos saw the daggers in her eyes as she regarded him. In sudden understanding he realized what had happened… what this man had done to them… and why. It was about power. It was always about power. How many times had he, himself, raped a woman to force a man to fight him angrily? How many men had he killed… all the while taunting them about how their women had groaned in pleasure against him… had climaxed in heights of desire. None of it was true of course. But Methos understood mind games all too well. He held his breath… wondering if he could manage to contain this situation before one of them snapped and broke the truce… sending this ship to the depths of the sea in a fiery explosion.

_Eleanor!_ he shouted mentally… desperate to be with her… and not here.

-----

**Upon the Aegean Sea:**

Eleanor closed her eyes as she rested her head wearily against Marianna's. She felt torn. She needed to be on Niebos, helping Phillip with Nestor. Nestor had nearly destroyed her eldest daughter because she hadn't been able to fight him adequately. But there had to be a way. One of her hands rested lightly on Marianna's arm… and her fingers touched the crystal.

Her eyes opened as she heard the voice of Aja. "_Peace, child of my heart. Other battles await you… this one is Phillip's_." Eleanor's eyes focused on the crystal and for a moment she was back on Niebos as the sun glistened in the sea-spray at the cove. "_For this I taught him. For this I prepared him. This battle is his_." She saw the boy Phillip had been, practicing with a wooden sword.

"He can't win," Eleanor protested. "And even if he does… if Nestor takes him… then through Phillip he will wield a skill none of us can defeat."

Aja laughed.

Marianna giggled. "I like it when the lady laughs. It means she's happy."

Eleanor stroked her hair. "I wish I knew what she knows… that I could see what she sees."

Marianna shifted in her lap. "Look with your heart," the child said solemnly.

Eleanor glanced around at the other evacuees until she saw a fearful Grace holding Hope and weeping, Jane looking calmly about as if memorizing every detail, and Madrigal holding Denara and fretting about Micah having remained behind. Finally her gaze traveled to the boys. J.D.… head and shoulders in height above the two immortals… all three carrying on an intense conversation and watching the diminishing sight of Niebos on the horizon. Within her mind, she felt Methos' wish that he were here. But if he were here… he'd be on the island too. Then she glanced into the shifting images of the crystal. She'd always feared this thing… she'd often seen death and destruction all too often the first few times she'd ever touched it. Only after Derrick held it did it show her the panorama of history. Now… Marianna's grasp showed her a verdant and growing world… young, new and filled with promise. And as guardians of that world… the People who had once watched over it.

"_What was may yet come again_," Aja whispered in her mind. "_Sacrifice will be essential to achieve it. But so it has always been_."

Eleanor smiled slightly. "The only constant is change."

"_Yes… the boy always said that_," the voice laughed and the scene shifted to a small boy struggling to make a flower chain. He glanced up and his gaze seemed to meet Eleanor's on the far side of the crystal. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in awe. So like J.D. he seemed, this Methos she had never known, that her heart ached for him. The vision wavered and it was another boy she saw now… brown-haired and meanly dressed. He held up a sword far too large for him and grinned in wonder. As before, his gaze met hers across the veil of time and his face reflected both confusion and interest. Another shift of scene and the second boy was grown… slicing the head off of an immortal so old that he was changed forever… an immortal who knew how to defeat evil… how to stop it.

Eleanor smiled warmly as she felt Methos' soft mental touch from so many miles away and his desire to be with them.

_Watch over Derrick_, she sent back urgently. The children's safety was her task… his was to protect Derrick. She saw that clearly now. Darius' quickening had returned to the world for a reason… Derrick knew… even if he had no clear idea how he knew… he knew or would know instinctively how to help Phillip.

_Go_, she whispered again. _Niebos… Phillip… Derrick is the key_.

As if her heart had taken wings, she felt darkness lift from her soul and in the sun-drenched day, she suddenly felt again the glimmer of hope.

-----

**Niebos:**

Their guide slowed the boat as it crept closer to the stone dock that Reagan Cole remembered. She saw no one moving around. Evidently the fleet of fishing boats had taken the island residents off already… still… Reagan felt that Phillip would still be here. He wouldn't leave if there were something to be done. Beside her, the elderly mortal shifted in discomfort.

"Are you okay?" she asked with worry. Perhaps she should have left him behind.

"Fine," he snapped. He pulled a small handgun from his holster and checked to be certain it was loaded. She nodded in understanding. He was worried. He was a mortal on the edge of the immortal world and using the tools he had at his command.

"That won't exactly stop one of us," she said softly. He glared at her and snapped the chamber shut.

"No… but it might slow someone down. Why is this island exploding like this? What's happening here?"

Reagan shook her head. She didn't know… but she feared.

"I see someone coming1" Steven yelled, his arm gesturing toward the beach path to one side of the dock. A path she knew all too well led to the sacred cove.

Reagan looked where he was pointing and saw a dark-haired immortal… slim, trim… looking a bit haggard, come along the path with a small someone tossed over his shoulder. He glanced up at them and stopped where he was to toss the body to the ground and stand over it… his sword in his hands as if he were guarding it.

"That's Greg Powers," Joe explained. "He's one of Mac's few remaining students." Joe met her gaze and drew in a sharp rasp of breath through his crooked teeth.

"I'll see what's going on," Steven called out and leapt the short distance to the dock.

Reagan bolted upright. "No!" she cried. "Wait for me."

Steven waved her off and drew his sword as he sauntered toward Powers. Reagan leaped with all of her strength, just barely reaching the dock from where she'd been in the boat and wavered a moment as she regained her balance. Then she raced after Steven.

"What are you doing to that child?" she could hear Steven cry out as he lifted his sword and began to attack Powers. "Monster!"

Reagan's eyes fell on the pale, blonde body of a girl. "Valeraine," she hissed. "Nestor."

The child rolled until she made eye contact with Regan. Behind her gag… the child's eyes glittered redly and she seemed to laugh as the two men beat at one another… their swords clanging harshly between the rumbles of the mountain.

Reagan grabbed her automatic from her waistband. "Forgive me," she whispered and began filling both men with a full clip of ammunition.

Their guide began to scream and tackled her with a flying leap from the boat. Her head cracked against the stone and as she sank into oblivion… she heard the monster in the form of a child laugh and croon contentedly. She feared Dawson would have no clue what he was truly up against.

-----

"Help me get off this thing!" Joe barked at their tour guide. The man rose off of Reagan's body with a gasp.

"I didn't mean to kill her. They were all crazy! Why were they attacking one another? And why with swords?"

"Help me ashore!" Joe thundered again. His eyes were on the bodies of the three immortals. How long before they all revived?

The guide tied off the ropes securing the small runabout firmly to the dock and reached to help Joe come ashore. Behind him, Joe saw the pale, blonde little girl of no more then ten years of age sit up. She worried at her bonds to free her hands. Once Joe was on the dock and had his balance and footing back, their guide turned to kneel next to the child. "I will help you. I will protect you from these people," he was saying as he removed her bonds and gag.

Something about her niggled at the back of Joe's mind. But when free, she merely threw her arms around the man and sobbed in fright. "He hurt me… he touched me," she wailed as her rescuer held and comforted her.

Deep in thought over the situation, Joe disarmed the three dead immortals, tossing all but one of their bladed weapons back onto the boat while shoving one of Reagan's guns and her sword into his belt. He wanted to be prepared for anything that might happen.

When Greg Powers stretched, drew in a breath and then rolled groaning to his side, the little girl screamed, broke free of her protector, and raced off down the street. "Go after her," Joe ordered their guide. "I can't catch her… you can."

"I thought he was dead," the man murmured in confusion as he rose.

"Go after the girl. I'll keep him covered." Their guide nodded as he raced off down the street, calling for the child.

The gun felt heavy in Joe's sweaty hand. His breath came in short hot gasps of fire and his heart thundered in his chest. "Don't make any sudden moves," he ordered Powers.

The dark-haired immortal sat up slowly and gazed calmly at him before reaching to pick up the strips of cloth with which he'd bound the child. "You shouldn't have freed her. She's dangerous."

Joe glanced up the street. Mac had told him that Powers was basically a good guy who'd been at one time self-destructive. He'd never really been an evil immortal. "Just sit quietly until the others wake up," Joe warned quietly but firmly. Only then could he begin to find out what the hell was going on.

"Have we met?" Powers asked as he flexed his legs a bit and then drew them up. He was wearing only jeans and boots; his chest was bare and his muscles rippled as he clasped his legs. He kept a close eye on Joe, the gun, and the sword at Joe's waist.

"Not personally," Joe replied. "I'm a friend of Duncan MacLeod's."

Powers nodded. "Watcher?" he asked.

Joe indicated it was so and flinched as the mountain let off steam again. The plume of white rose into the sky and he sensed a rumbling under foot.

"I think it's not as bad as it was," Powers remarked with a nod toward the mountain. "Maybe things are getting better."

"Maybe," muttered Joe. Reagan Cole was groaning now as she lifted one hand to her head. Just beyond her, Steven Keane drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes.

"Nobody move until we sort this out," Joe told all of them as the two immortals sat up and focused on his gun. Then all three began talking at once.

-----


	59. Chapter Fifty Six

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

**Burma:**

Fire cleanses all things.

Once he and Amanda had taken the baby downstairs with them and found a few things stored away in a closet that Kate must have purchased in preparation for Ian's arrival… Duncan grabbed a brand from the bonfire that Kiem Sun had built in the yard, and set fire to the house. He retraced his steps through every room… pausing momentarily in silent prayer as he set fire to Kate's bed. The flames consumed the house greedily. Deep red they rose into the sky with billows of black smoke in accompaniment.

He stood grim and silent watching until the structure collapsed into a pile of rubble, coals and ash. He could hear Amanda behind him… cooing and talking to the baby… and he sensed the silent Kiem Sun nearby… watching them both with interest. Finally Duncan turned from the fire. "I'll drive," he barked. "Kiem… you can navigate." His eyes flickered guiltily across the now crying baby. "What's the matter with him?"

"He's hungry. She hadn't bought formula. I have managed to add some sugar to some bottled water but he wants more than that." Her eyes met Duncan's. "He needs you."

"You take care of him," Duncan muttered as he pushed past her. "I'm driving." He held the rear door open for Amanda and then climbed behind the wheel. Once Kiem was in the passenger seat, Duncan started the engine, put the car into gear and started off down the muddy track that served as a road. _Let the jungle take this place back_, he thought. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the dwindling fire and considered how cleansing fire could be. In the back seat, the baby cried and Amanda tried to hush him. Eventually, he seemed to cry himself out and lapsed into a silence for which Duncan was grateful.

The child was the positive proof of his rash actions and decisions. That child had cost two immortals their lives. In the darkest reaches of his heart… Duncan wished he'd never been born. He stared at the muddy road ahead and turned when Kiem directed him. By the time they'd reached the village… they were nearly out of gas. He refilled while Amanda went searching for formula. She looked at him pleadingly to take the baby… but when he'd snorted at her and turned his back on her… she'd turned away and he'd sensed through their bond that she was saddened and confused.

Kiem stopped beside him at the pump and held out a bottled water. Gratefully Duncan accepted it, turned it up and drank it down.

"You smell like the bonfire," Kiem said quietly. "People saw the smoke and may be putting two and two together."

"Let them," Duncan growled.

"It would help if I understood your part in this. Who was this woman? The child, I can sense has the potential to be one of us. Is that it? Were we all indeed born and not created?"

"I don't know," Duncan mumbled as he pitched the empty bottle into a nearby trash bin. "I only know I lost someone today… someone I never wanted to hurt."

"The baby is not to blame," Kiem added softly.

"Isn't he? If she hadn't wanted a child so desperately… if she hadn't hooked up with a wastrel whose main concerns were his own pleasures… if I hadn't been so slow on the trail… none of this would have happened," he shouted and then looked around at the villagers eyeing him curiously.

"It seems to me that those who are dead bare the blame for attempting to hide in such a faraway place. I ask again… how was this possible? How is it that we came into this world? Is this a wondrous news that must be passed among us all? Is this the face of the future? How is it possible?"

"It's a nightmare," Duncan retorted. "For that child to be born… two of us died. All they were is tied up in a child that might never live to grow up and join us."

"Should he be left at the nearest orphanage?" Kiem persisted in his attempts to understand. "Immortals should not raise children who might one day join us. They need to be hidden and protected."

Duncan glared at him and then turned away. He'd promised Kate he'd look after them both. Physically he ached to hold that child. But the memory of Kate's death bothered him. She should have healed. She'd even killed Alistair to feed the child. Duncan had not given the man a second thought when he'd set fire to the immortal's body. He'd even thought 'good riddance' when he'd done so. But Kate… Kate whom he'd killed and made immortal… Kate who'd hated him for nearly three hundred years for doing so… Kate who'd never been able to move beyond those simple desires of an Irish peasant girl to marry and bear children… to live and grow old with someone she loved. His Kate. In his guilt he'd given her what she wanted. In his guilt he'd pursued her halfway around the world to make certain she'd be all right. And it was his guilt that even now made him so angry at himself for failing to save her that he was ready to do… what? What should he do now? Should he even try to raise the child? Should he do as Kiem suggested and leave him at an orphanage? Should he take him to Niebos for the others to raise? What?

The pump _dinged_ that the tank was full. Duncan pulled the nozzle out of the gas tank and replaced it on the pump as he screwed the gas cap back on. Then he leaned on the roof of the car and closed his eyes as he pictured Kate in that filthy and rotting bed again. What had he done to her?

Sensing Amanda behind him, though she made no effort to insert a comment into his thoughts, he pulled the rear door open once again for her to climb in.

"Thank you Duncan… oh take Ian for a moment while I get these packages situated."

Duncan glanced down at the baby in his arms… a baby whose wide brown eyes were so like his own.

"He's yours too." Kate had said. Duncan lifted a finger to rub it across Ian's face. He felt immediately the baby's desperate pull and hunger. Duncan let out a deep breath and relaxed a moment… letting Ian pull some of his power into his small body. Then, the baby closed his eyes and slept once more. Duncan lifted his finger and then his gaze. Amanda was smiling at him.

"I can drive for a bit."

Duncan shook his head and handed Ian back to her. "I don't want him starving. Can't you…?" He gestured at her.

"I've tried. He doesn't seem to want me except if nothing else is available. I told you… he wants you… he _needs_ you to thrive. I'm not his mother and he knows that."

"I'm not his father," Duncan said softly in clipped and hollow tones. He glanced at Kiem Sun… wondering how long they could keep the secret of Ian's true creation from him.

Amanda leaned close to him. "You're all he's got. Remember how much Phillip doted on Marianna?" She held the baby out to him. "Take him Duncan. Hold him… cherish him… he's a miracle."

"His mother said that," Duncan replied gruffly, but found that he ached to hold the bundle again. He held out his arms for him and sighed with a sob as Amanda placed in him his arms once again.

"Then make certain he always knows what she gave up for him… how much she wanted him to live," Amanda said softly as she squeezed Duncan's arm and backed away.

He gave in then and climbed into the rear seat… staring at the sleeping face of the small bundle… aware that Ian had Kate's mouth… and Alistair's nose. His coloring, however, appeared actually closer to Connor's fair looks than to Duncan's dark ones. Somehow Duncan had always thought of him as Connor. He'd been surprised that Kate even knew his mortal father's name, much less chosen it for the boy. He'd just supposed that she would name him Connor for some reason. But Ian was also the name of one of his last students… Alisaunne's first love… the doomed Ian Daffyd. Perhaps it would upset Alisaunne when she heard it, but Duncan wanted to honor Kate's request.

Duncan leaned back in the seat as Amanda accelerated. Mandalay was only a few hours away. And then what? How best to get this child with no papers and no identification out of the country? He glanced up at Kiem Sun's enigmatic smile. "Kiem… do you have any knowledge of the legalities in Burma concerning newborns?" Duncan finally asked.

Kiem's eyes danced merrily. "As a matter of fact, MacLeod my friend… I do."

-----

**Niebos:**

Seeing discarded children's toys in the street before one house, Valeraine skipped into its interior and rummaged around for real clothes. A glance in a mirror showed she was starting to pink up some and lose the pale greenish-white cast of her skin. Even the predominant veins that had pulsed just under the surface had faded for the most part. Her hair… alas… was still thin and limp… like pale strands of spaghetti. She considered chopping it off with the knife she found in the kitchen… but left it for the time being, having seen food on the table. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been years since she'd eaten. She began stuffing whatever she could find into her mouth. By eating… she'd get stronger and heal faster.

"Little girl?" one of the mortals was calling from the street. He moved along slowly… seeking her. He'd come on a boat. With a boat she could leave this island and lose herself in the population until she found an immortal who would take her head.

"_No!_" a frightened voice within her screamed. She ignored it. It was only the last vestiges of this host's personality. This small one had been totally unprepared for his onslaught when she'd killed the previous host. Perhaps her guilt at killing the other one and not seeing another way out of the situation had helped. Too bad Phillip, rather than being angry and killing her had been horrified… disgusted, and then had chained her up at the bottom of the ocean.

"Phillip," she hissed sibilantly. She both hated him and wanted him. She wanted to exist inside of him and use his skill to destroy all the immortals. He could, she knew. His daily visits to the cove had created a connection between them. She'd felt how close he'd come to killing the others. Even now she knew he was climbing the mountain… right now more focused on the master's other servant… the child who'd been reborn.

Valeraine smirked. Phillip knew her evil so well, that he would continue to allow her to exist. He'd known for millennia that she wanted him. How surprised he would be to discover that if he killed the other one… he'd still be caught in the master's net. She picked up a raw fish she'd found lying in a bowl of salt water and began to rip off hunks with her teeth and then to chew it thoughtfully. Her master would want her to do what she could to help the child destroy Phillip. But doing so might well demand that she cease to exist. Her own survival… her freedom in the outer world to continue the master's bidding was far more important than making certain that the boy was successful. After all… he was a big boy… and filled with his mother's hate and his father's cunning. He didn't need her.

She looked up as she heard the mortal still calling out for her. The problem with getting him to take her from the island was that he'd brought two immortals with him. She had to destroy them somehow… or at least get them off the docks and no longer thinking about her. Especially Powers. His soul still hungered for the darkness. But he'd fought free of her control. Few did that and lived to tell of it. She would have to deal with him also.

Spitting out a bone she tossed the remnants of the fish back into the bowl of water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and picked up the knife. Perhaps she could still help the boy and protect her own existence if she were very careful.

Slipping out of the house, she followed the mortal's voice. When she saw him, she paused a moment and put on her most innocent face. Her eyes filled with tears and her lip quivered. She flexed her fingers around the hilt of the knife she held behind her back.

"You won't hurt me… will you?" she said with a trembling voice.

The mortal turned with a smile. He crouched in front of her. "I have little girls of my own. I won't let anyone hurt you. I will protect you." He smiled warmly at her and reached to brush her thin hair out of her face.

She sliced his neck open and backed away from him… not wanting any blood to splatter on her clean clothes. His eyes widened in confusion; he gurgled and held his throat. Blood gushed with each beat of his heart until that beating slowed… slower… slower. Then he sank to the ground dead. She leaned over him and cut off his ears, stuffing them into a pocket for later. Ears always made for a crunchy between-meal snack. Then she skipped up the street cackling madly.

-----

He circled around behind the immortals carefully. They were strung out on the mountain ahead of him… and the two small ones were in the center of the group with the female. Getting to one of those three would be a problem. He crouched behind the bushes, aware that the burly one had stopped and was glancing back down the trail with worry. He couldn't have sensed him… he was not one of those creatures. He was something else. His mother had been one… but any bitch would have done as well. Surely nothing of her remained in him. Nothing ever had before. He crouched lower and remained very still. His eyes lingered on the smaller of the two boys. Such a delectable-looking morsel. He was surprised he was still here and hadn't been sent away already. Such a cherubic face… and that pale blonde hair. He wanted to both f--k his brains out and eat him up. He could feel an erection starting, even as his mouth salivated. Perhaps he could manage both.

He focused again on the leader again. He would have to be careful around that one… or he had the feeling that this life would be very short indeed. The craggy-faced one also had an air of danger and ability about him. The woman moved smoothly… but she was a woman. Perhaps she could give birth to another of his father's true sons. The older boy would be no threat whatsoever. He was young… and he was soft. As he assessed their abilities and watched the leader move them forward again… his excitement cooled. He would need to take care of business before pleasure.

He hefted the trident and stealthily moved to the next rock outcropping. What he needed was a distraction… something that would divide the five immortals so that he'd have easy access to the boy… er boys… and the woman. But what sort of distraction? After all, he didn't want them to see him until he was ready to attack. Swift and deadly had worked so far… it was still the best method… of that he was certain.

Another gasp of steam shot into the air. Again the immortals paused in their ascent as the ground underfoot trembled. What were they searching for up there? It had all been destroyed in the initial eruption. What did the leader hope to find?

-----

Despite the continuous rumblings from the earth, things were quite a bit quieter now. Phillip paused and gazed back down the path. Rather than go around to the other side and use the longer Pilgrim's Path with its serpentine direction, Phillip had decided on the shorter but harder straight climb up the side of the mountain. As yet, he detected no additional immortals, but with things calmer… perhaps Greg and Valeraine had decided to work together rather than one of them killing the other. He'd hated leaving them on the beach… but holy ground dictated he do so… besides… he'd needed to care for the mortals first and get them to safety.

His gaze traveled down to the quiet village nestled at the foot of the volcano. Nothing moved in those streets… even the church bell was still now. Strangely… he saw a small motor launch maneuver up to the dock and figures emerge from it. He had no time to worry about anyone else. Whoever they were… they were on their own down there. He had to get to the summit and see just how bad the eruption was.

He could feel heat now from the steam erupting from the fissures… but not the massive heat of a volcano ready to erupt. He knew about those. Nestor had killed someone at a temple in Pompeii and Vesuvius had erupted. That eruption had crippled the immortal villain for a time… it had at least ruined his fair looks. Now once again… Nestor was free… and the earth itself stood ready to explode.

"I have to kill him somehow… I have to kill that child… I have to end the horror," he murmured to himself. Kenny must have heard him. The boyman looked up at him with a knowing nod. Kenny had seen Nestor at his most twisted. Of them all… Kenny most knew the horror that could happen if Nestor were free. Phillip glanced again at the village. He froze in a sudden realization that he'd left the door open. Nestor could escape while Phillip was checking the eruption and looking for the other monster on the island. "Damn," he muttered.

"What is it?" Katherine asked.

"That boat at the dock… Nestor can use it to escape."

"Would he know how to drive it?" asked John.

Phillip nodded. "We have to warn them. We have to block the escape" He looked again at the mountain… clearly torn between two jobs.

"Kenny and I are fast runners, sir," Micah said. "We'll go back."

Phillip shook his head. "Not alone."

"I'll go," John offered quietly.

"Yes… you and Micah go." Phillip glanced at Kenny, wanting to send him, but also wanting to keep the boyman close. "Don't trust anyone you see. And be wary of Powers. I don't know how far gone he is."

John nodded as he clasped Micah's shoulders. "Are you ready?" When Micah nodded he smiled, the crags in his face seemed deeper when he smiled. "Then let's be off… but stay close."

"Yes sir," Micah said, seeming to stand just a little taller in the importance of the job. Then they were off.

"Kenny… to my left… Katherine to my right. Keep a close eye out for anything that moves." He glanced at the swiftly descending pair of immortals and prayed he hadn't made a tactical error.

"The gods watch over thee," he prayed and then turned to resume his climb.

-----

He smiled and almost chuckled aloud when he saw the group split up. "Perfect," he whispered. This would work out well. Now the odds were in his favor and he readied his attack.

-----


	60. Chapter Fifty Seven

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_:**

By the time they finally cleared the last lock of the canal and burst forth once more into the oddly choppy waters of the Mediterranean Sea, their helicopter escort had veered off and been replaced by a second one. This one was apparently armed.

"Again… assurances only in case you decide to throw me overboard," the Egyptian said smoothly. He still leaned comfortably against the starboard railing, his drawn sword across his lap while Amber, Alisaunne, and Cassandra circled before him like the mythological Furies… their anger just barely contained. Cochrane kept a close watch on them and on their "guest". Methos was still wondering about how he knew Ali and whether or not he was good for her. What was she called him? Ren something?

Standing at the bow Methos turned once more to stare out across the waters… willing them forward. Masahiro and Burke had re-set the sails when Derrick had ordered and the canvas were so filled with a brisk wind now that the **_Lady Ambergris II_** was fairly flying across the surface of the water. Methos' connection with Eleanor assured him that they'd completed the safe passage to Athens and that what news reports they'd seen and heard seemed to think that the volcano on Niebos… after having had that first frightening explosion of mud, smoke and ash… was now just belching steam according to satellite shots. He breathed more easily at this news. Perhaps his worst-case scenario would not come to pass.

He considered her thoughts that Derrick somehow was the key to Phillip's ability to stop Nestor permanently. And the something else? The something that had been born in the night from Nestor, his dark master and the hate-filled Sarah Masterson? What was it and how dangerous was it? Again he willed the ship to move faster even as he eyed the helicopter. But even if he could work a deal with the Egyptian for it to take him on to the island… how would he protect Derrick when the time came?

Michelle, uncomfortable with the Egyptian's veiled innuendos about her had retreated to the relative quiet of her galley. David had initially gone with her and then returned to help keep Tyler Burke quiet as Caspar was still in the engine room.

The big man though, other than growling at the Egyptian when he came aboard and glaring at him, had not moved from where he sat on the port side of the deck across from him. Cassandra's finally eliciting his story from him seemed to have settled his mind. He seemed calm and watchful… as if trying to unify the story of his past with the present situation. He glanced up as if aware of Methos' stare and nodded. He leaned back, his fists still balled as he stretched his arms to either side of the railing and returned his glare at the Egyptian. He shifted his feet and Methos knew that Burke was ready to attack if the Egyptian made any move whatsoever. Likely the two of them would end up in the water.

Methos strode back to between them. "I'm in a hurry ladies and gentlemen. I will not stop this ship if anyone goes overboard and we will not stop nor turn aside from our destination for a challenge. Is that clear?" He glared at everyone in turn. "I will personally throw any of you overboard if you delay me even a single minute!"

Eight pairs of immortal eyes widened and then eight heads nodded. Methos glanced toward Derrick still behind the wheel and focused on steering them ever north. The sails overhead billowed in the wind and the ship darted forward as if propelled by Methos' will alone. He held his hands behind him as he returned to the bow.

A few moments later, Alisaunne joined him. "How are they?"

He glanced at her. "In Athens."

"Then they're safe from him?"

Methos drew in a long, deep breath and then let it out slowly. "For the moment. I have no idea what's happening on the island though. If he escapes… no one is safe."

"Then we have to stop him… but how?" Their matching grey-hazel eyes met each other's.

"You don't hear him any longer?" Methos finally asked.

Alisaunne shook her head and turned back to watch the others watching the Egyptian. "Not for a day or so," she replied quietly. "Ren helped me banish his thoughts… or I thought he did." She looked steadily at Methos and smiled thinly. "Yeah… I know. Likely not a wise move taking another immortal lover… but he makes me feel normal."

"He's an old friend of MacLeod's you know," Methos said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Really," Alisaunne laughed. "That's it… isn't it. He has the same brogue sometimes. He said he was from Strathclyde. Didn't you live there once?"

A small smile and a chuckle erupted from Methos. "Yes… I still have a place there. But then I have hiding places all over the world. Eleanor only knows a few of them."

"Maybe you'll share one or two with me," she said softly and then blushed. "I meant where they are so that I can use them if I need to. I didn't mean." She blushed more deeply, evidently recalling that attempt of hers to seduce him one night. He reached out and hugged her in fatherly affection. Dealing with her was always odd… perhaps because she had never really felt like his child… perhaps because she'd been grown and an immortal before he'd known of her existence. _Damn you, Darius!_ he thought bitterly. His friend should never have kept her existence a secret from him or from Eleanor.

"I think I can manage to give you a couple locations once this is over," he said calmly. He glanced back at Cochrane. "Now tell me about Warren."

She laughed and began to tell him about how they'd met and how he'd seen Nestor's thoughts attack her… how close she'd come to killing Ren the day of the _tsunami_. "Maybe he's what I need, someone who is as troubled as I am. Maybe we're good for each other."

Methos noticed that Cochrane was watching the two of them and seemed jealous. His lip curled as he stared at their friendly embrace. Methos dropped his arms to his side. "Be careful of him. He's got quite a temper sometimes. He even killed his last student."

Alisaunne nodded. "I know. He told me. But when we met him at the airport… he seemed truly lost and confused. I don't think he even knew he was an immortal."

"He knows now though. Just make certain he doesn't do anything rash," Methos told her and then laughed. "In fact, dearest daughter… don't you do anything rash either." He nodded toward the Egyptian.

"Oh… I laughed at his rape of me. He was nothing. I've had lovers who were rougher than he was. I think it bothered him some that I laughed at him. Let's face it… nothing will ever be worse than Nestor."

"No," Methos agreed. "Nothing will ever be worse than Nestor." But he glanced again at the waters ahead of them and prayed that it was so.

-----

After Adam's orders to stand down… to not start anything, Amber retreated to the pilothouse and closed the door behind her as she looked forlornly at Derrick.

"Are ya angry with me?" she finally asked him.

"Why should I be angry with you?" Derrick replied, glancing at her and then at the Egyptian on the deck. It was as if something dark moved over his face. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Didn't I? Cassandra fought him. Alisaunne laughed at him. I just lay there. I knew I couldn't stop him. I'd never been attacked that way before. I just let him do his business so he'd get up and leave me alone." She shuddered slightly. "I still feel dirty. I can still smell him on me. It's as if I'll never be clean again and I can't bear for you or anyone to get too close."

Derrick nodded. "But it's not your fault. I love you. If you want me to stay away… I will. But don't ask me to be angry with you or to stop loving you. You're the other half of my heart. I knew it when I first met you. I knew it in that bar when you served me a drink." He looked beyond her at the man on the deck. "Give me the time and the place… I think I can kill him now."

"But not in anger," Amber said quietly. "If yar angry at him… ya'll make a mistake."

Derrick nodded. "He's good… I nearly lost the first time. I pulled out every trick I knew to win…"

"But ya didn't finish him."

Derrick shook his head. "I judged that a quickening going off in his camp would bring his men. And I'd never find you again."

"But ya still seemed reluctant in Dubā?"

"I was weary. I had nothing left. I would have died if I'd fought him then." He smiled thinly at her. "I wanted to… I just knew that my death was inevitable if I were forced to fight him then."

"And now?"

"He can still kill me. He's that good a fighter. Right now I want to tear him apart with my bare hands like Burke did. It was as if he was my anger made manifest. His actions woke me up."

"And now?" she asked stepping closer to him.

"Now? Now I have to get Adam back to Niebos. He has to be there. It's important."

"What's going on there?" she persisted. By this time she was inches from him.

He stared deeply into her blue eyes and sighed. "Something truly evil. I don't really know or understand. Alisaunne knows." He shifted so that his lips were less than an inch from her upraised ones. But he halted there… unwilling to make the next move.

She stepped back and rubbed her arms.

Derrick closed his eyes with a sigh and then opened them, focused once more on the wheel and their course. Outside he sensed that Caspar had finally come on deck. David moved to his side, spoke to him and then went below to the galley to be with Michelle.

Amber turned away and stared out at the deck. "I'm sorry. I just need time."

"Talk to Cassandra," Derrick said with a clipped voice. "Talk to Alisaunne. They know rape. They know how to handle it."

"I don't want it handled," Amber snapped at him. "I want it not to have happened. I want my life back! I want him dead."

Derrick nodded numbly. He began to understand Cassandra's fears that if he remained with Amber… loving her as he did… he would end up dead. He would not have the detachment he needed to survive the challenge. He needed to let her go. The fact that in so doing… he was ripping his heart out was not lost on him. He stared at Methos still on the bow alone now that Alisaunne had returned to pace before the Egyptian once again. _How do you manage it?_ he wanted to ask him. _How can you love and survive? How do you keep that detachment that allows you to kill so easily?_

As if he'd heard him, Methos turned and stared at him again from the bow, his hands clasped behind him. Derrick saw the fearsome expression in the ancient immortal's eyes. Then he turned away. Derrick blew air forcefully from his lungs. Methos' expression had sent a chill down his back… a chill that made him pray that he would never be on the receiving end of it ever again. He motioned to Caspar who opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Yeah Derrick?"

"Take the wheel for a while. I need to stretch my legs a bit." He nodded curtly to Amber as he passed her, aware that a gasp caught in her throat as he touched her arm in passing, and strode out of the pilothouse. He stretched and considered talking to Methos but decided to go below first. He wanted to visit the head and get something to eat and drink from the galley. He would need all of his strength in the fight to come.

-----

**Burma:**

They left the car in a lot in Mandalay so that Kiem Sun could vanish for a bit to get the paperwork created that would allow them to get out of the country with the baby. Amanda had then gone shopping for supplies.

"He needs clothes… diapers, those little moist wipes, formula, a rattle, a pacifier, bottles, and I don't know what else.

Duncan had handed her a wad of bills that Reagan had given him on the plane. "Get some of it exchanged and don't spend it all!"

Amanda waved the money in front of her. "Of course not. You just get to know your son." She'd turned with a wave and sauntered off merrily while he'd muttered, "He's not my son." But staring into those wide brown eyes… so like his own… Duncan wasn't so sure. The two of them definitely had a connection. But beyond being the catalyst that had allowed Alistair and Kate to conceive a child… he hadn't contributed anything to Ian's conception… or had he? Ian… he still wasn't certain if that was to be this child's name. Kate hadn't wanted him to bear Craille's name in any fashion. Duncan rocked with him as he sat in the small restaurant. He had decisions to make.

Nearby, men tossed a load of newspapers off of a truck and several small boys; street urchins perhaps, grabbed bundles of them as they took off crying out headlines.

Unconcerned, Duncan slipped a finger into one of Ian's tiny hands and relaxed into the feel of him drawing power from him. He began to understand why in later years that Darius had seemed tired sometimes. He'd been taking care of Alisaunne as much as he could. "I canna do this alone, little one," Duncan whispered softly. "Ya must let Amanda and others help ya grow." Ian sucked on the end of Duncan's finger. "Aye lad… ya must or I won't be able to protect ya."

One of the boys with a bundle of newspapers threaded his way amidst the patrons and held up a paper. Duncan remained only barely aware of him until the boy held a paper up in front of Duncan's face. On the front page was a color photograph of Niebos. Duncan recognized the island. But streaming out of the top of the dead volcano was a plume of black smoke. His eyes widened. He pulled his hand free of Ian and fumbled for some change… none of which was in Burmese currency. Still, the boy selected several coins from Duncan's palm and left a copy of the paper on the table. Duncan slapped the remaining change down on the table as he shifted the paper to get a better look at the picture. At the same time, he cursed that he couldn't read the language. He spread the paper out on the table and slowly turned pages, looking for more information.

In his arms, Ian whimpered.

-----


	61. Chapter Fifty Eight

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

**Athens:**

"Everything is sized for me," Denara was saying as she opened the door to the inner courtyard of the small house she owned that nestled on one of the hillsides. "I think Madrigal and Micah used it for a bit recently."

Eleanor, one hand tightly gripping one of Marianna's and the other firmly gripping J.D.'s shoulder stepped inside the courtyard, her eyes taking in at a glance the small fountain and the surrounding trees that offered shade. After arriving in Athens, the immortals slipped away from the authorities interviewing the evacuees and followed the tiny Denara. Eleanor thought Methos also had property here someplace… he did in most major cities… but she didn't know what sort of shape it was in. Besides… staying together with the others was important.

Jayne hugged Madrigal tightly as they stepped inside. Madrigal looked as if she'd started crying again. Grace's eyes were also brimming with tears but she said nothing as she stepped across the threshold somberly. Denis and Chou… carefully and with a tad of importance checked the street behind them and then locked the door. They stood near it as if on guard duty. If things weren't so serious, Eleanor might have smiled.

"I can go for food as soon as we know what we have," she told the others. She didn't really want to leave the children… but she had to take charge of the situation. Grace was in no shape to do so. Jayne was… but Eleanor didn't want to chance Jayne's being out alone. Besides… she was still learning Greek.

"That would be fine," Denara lisped. She also seemed to be taking charge. She opened the inner door to the house and vanished inside… evidently to check on things. Eleanor collapsed on the edge of the fountain next to Grace. "How is she?" she said motioning at the baby.

"She's sleeping." Grace said quietly. She glanced around at the others and then leaned her head close to Eleanor and whispered. "Are you certain about Greg?"

Eleanor started suddenly. She thought it odd that Grace asked about him first. Finally she shrugged. "All I know is that he seemed ready to kill me. Holy ground wouldn't stop him. He seemed maddened somehow. I don't think he was entirely in his right mind. Then he and Phillip fought. Phillip killed him… but didn't take his head before we left. We'd thought Valeraine free of Nestor's influence. We should have known better.

"So he could be all right? He could still come back to us?" Grace's lip quivered slightly as she shifted Hope in her arms.

"I suppose. But Nestor will want a new body. I think he hopes to get Greg's."

Grace shuddered and sobbed, holding Hope close to her face. Eleanor put an arm around her and hugged her. The triune pairing could be strange sometimes. Perhaps it was supposed to be. She thought about Phillip's kiss. He hadn't been himself that night. She lifted a hand to her lips as she recalled it. Had it not been so strange… so evil feeling… so intrusive… perhaps she might have responded. She loved Phillip… she always had… but she'd always thought of him as a teacher and mentor. Even before she'd known he preferred male companions, she'd sensed that there was never a sexual desire in his affection for her. His kiss had also reminded her of Darius. She shivered. She'd wanted so much more from him so often. And how did Derrick fit into the equation?

Eleanor considered that she'd had three children. Methos had been the father of all three… but three different immortals… or in Derrick's case pre-immortal… had made them possible. She felt connected to all three of them. Not connected the way she was to Methos… whom she could sense growling and pacing so many miles away as he caught her thoughts… yet still a part of her somehow.

_It's true_, she admitted. _I love them all… but I chose you_. Was this what Grace was feeling? Was she considering altering her choice of John to that of Greg?

_Interesting_, Methos thought back suddenly. His mind also pictured some of the artifacts he'd been studying. His mind flickered over the ones that he and Phillip had managed to identify as locations.

_What?_

_Even though they're destroyed… I still can see and shift them_, he sent thoughtfully. It was like the computer game, Eleanor realized… shifting images that Methos, Duncan and Derrick had sought to understand and make sense of. But the computer was two-dimensional. These thoughts were three-dimensional. And memories of places he'd been also sifted through his mind as he moved them.

She sighed. She supposed he was desperately trying to find something to keep him calm. Evidently the situation on the ship was nearly as bad as that on the island. And here she sat… safe in Athens with the children.

"Mom?" J.D. asked suddenly sitting down beside her. "Will Dad be back soon?"

"I hope so," she replied with a forced smile.

"I need to talk to him I guess."

"About what?"

J.D. blushed as he looked away. "Oh… girls I guess."

"Yeah… that's definitely something I don't know anything about," she teased him.

He watched Denis and Chou and then glanced at Madrigal and Jayne. His ears seemed on fire and he definitely seemed uncomfortable. "I wish Micah were here," he finally said. "Or maybe Uncle Phillip or even Greg."

"What's wrong?" Eleanor turned to hug him. He abruptly shrugged free of her as though he were uncomfortable.

"Nothing," he mumbled. His hands balled into fists in his lap.

"Hey… I do know a few things," she laughed. "Maybe I can help."

He stared at her wide-eyed and pale suddenly. "Er… no. I… uh… No!" J.D. stood and backed away. "I'm fine… really. It's just… all this tension I guess." He whipped around and headed for Denis and Chou as if they were his lifelines.

"Now I wonder what that's all about," Grace murmured.

"Not sure," Eleanor replied.

Denara exited the house at that moment with a list. "Here's what we need in the way of food. I'll get everyone settled in if you get what's on the list," she said as she handed the list to Eleanor.

Eleanor glanced over it and nodded. "I'll have to hit the bank first… but I won't be long." She headed for the exterior door, noting that J.D. backed away and then turned from her. She sighed and told Denis and Chou. "Watch the door. If an immortal passes by on the street… he will be bound to feel all of you in here. So be careful." She turned to look at Marianna and then at J.D. "Don't let anything happen to them."

"We won't," Denis assured her. Chou nodded his agreement.

Eleanor unlocked and opened the door, slipping out and then waiting until she heard the locks snap shut again. Only then did she head down the street to begin her errands.

-----

J.D. sat down heavily on one of the stone benches about the courtyard. He needed to hide the throbbing between his legs. He'd been fine… it hadn't bothered him all day until he'd sat down next to his mother and she'd hugged him. Suddenly he'd realized he couldn't stay next to her. She'd know! Then she'd offered to help him! That's what Sarah Manning had told him… his mother would help him. But J.D. didn't think that was right. Thoughts of Sarah Manning's cool hands on him had begun to fill his mind and he'd looked around at the others… wondering if he should ask anyone else now that his mother was gone. But he hadn't felt quite right about that either.

Besides… the thoughts of Sarah Manning had made him wish she were here. She'd know what to do. At the same time… he was glad she wasn't here. He didn't know why… but he had the impression that she'd done something to him that she shouldn't have… something that would make his mother truly angry.

He leaned over slightly to hide the bulge in his pants from sight as he tried as he had in the bathtub yesterday and in the bed last night… to calm himself and control this thing that was taking over his body. The last thing he wanted was for Denis or Chou to see it and tease him again. He glanced up as Denara stood before him.

"Eleanor wants most of us in the house. It will be safer that way. I only have two bedrooms so we'll have to figure out who goes where."

J.D. nodded and said curtly, "I'll be along in a few minutes," he told the tiny immortal. When she looked at him oddly, his ears burned again. Did she know? The thought of this tiny perpetual child who seemed even younger than his baby sister knowing what was happening to him was even worse. He wanted to hit her or something. "Go away1" he shouted. "I don't need you hovering over me!"

Denara backed up a few steps. "You can't stay out here alone. It's not safe."

"Who's going to bother me?" J.D. shouted. He gestured at her rudely. "Piss off!"

Denara's eyes widened in surprise. Behind her Jayne looked at him sharply and came over. "I'll look after him, Denara," she said and sat down beside him. J.D. groaned as Jayne adjusted her glasses. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. The throbbing, at least was easing. If he could just stay away from all these women he'd be fine.

But Jayne's hand touched his back and he gasped. "J.D., if there's anything you need… talk to me or to one of us. I know you're worried about Phillip and the others we left behind. I know you're worried about your dad. But it will be fine… really." She hugged him and he felt like his temper was going to boil out of him. The throbbing began again.

"I'm… fine. Really," he insisted calmly and a bit too slowly for it to sound real. Jayne hugged him again. He focused on trying to remain calm. "I'm not a child," he insisted as he finally shrugged free of her. He didn't want to get up right now. Part of him wanted her to touch him the way Sarah had. He pressed his legs together with a groan.

By this time, Grace had handed Hope over to Madrigal and come over to him. She crouched right in front of him. "J.D.? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" he shouted at all of them. "Just leave me alone."

One of Grace's hands touched his leg. "You can talk to me J.D. You can ask me anything."

He freaked at her touch… jumping up and pushing her way. Then he backed away from them all. "I don't need anything. Thanks. I'm fine." He turned and raced into the house.

"Now what do you suppose that's all about," Grace muttered in confusion.

"I don't know," Jayne replied. "I really don't know."

-----

J.D. found the bathroom and slammed the door as he slid down against it. The throbbing was worse. He rammed a hand into his jeans and tried to massage the swelling to make it go away. That really didn't help.

There was a tentative knock at the door. "J.D.?" he heard Marianna say.

"Great," he mumbled and pulled his hand free. He opened the door a crack. "I'm busy."

"Want to look in my ball?" she asked holding out the hunk of crystal.

"Not bloody likely," he replied. It was something he'd heard his dad say sometimes. He moved a hand to shove the ball and her hand out of the way so he could slam the door again. When his fingers touched it… his eyes widened. "Oh…" he said suddenly. Then he blushed and pulled his hand free as he slammed the door again and leaned against it.

His dad had been lying naked on a bed while his mother… also naked sat on his hips and moved back and forth. She'd leaned forward and those ponderous breasts of hers had hung free. His dad had been caressing them… and biting at them. J.D. felt worse than ever. Sarah was right. His mother did that to help his father. She knew about how to help. But as J.D. dropped his burning face into his arms and groaned, he still thought telling her and asking her to help him was a major mistake. "I so need someone to talk to," he mumbled. He needed someone who could explain things to him and help him understand what was happening to him. But who?

-----

As afternoon shadows lengthened into evening, the four small ones sat around Denara's kitchen table, their heads together.

"What's keeping Eleanor?" Chou asked.

Denara shook her head. "I don't know. Something may have delayed her… if it did… we have to protect the children."

They nodded at her. She was the eldest of them.

"I'll keep an eye on Grace and the mortal woman," Madrigal said. "Grace will fight if she needs to."

"We can't count on her," Denis said shaking his head. "Just as it used to be… we have only each other to rely on. We work together… remember?"

"We break the one-on-one rule to make certain that we survive," Denara agreed. Thus it had been before… thus it would be again. They knew how to take care of their own.

-----

Grace stretched on the bed next to Hope and thought about the men in their lives. If she could only have one back… which one should she pray for? She sobbed slightly. She wanted them both back. Was she being greedy? But she did. And… if she were truly honest… she wanted them both in her bed. She ached for both John's gentle touch and for Greg's passion. Why shouldn't she be allowed both of them? She teased a finger up and down Hope's back and ached for the feel of one of them between her legs. She'd never wanted anyone so badly as she did at this moment. She pressed her legs together and shuddered slightly. "Bring one of them back to me," she began to pray. "Please… just one of them."

-----

**Niebos:**

Ahead of him the three immortals came to a stop at the crest of the mountain. The man crouched on the edge and stared at the sight below him. The woman wandered slightly to her right… the boy to his left… gazing down at the steam vents.

He licked his tongue of his teeth and grinned. "A few more steps," he cackled and then leaped when the boy took them. He rammed him with the trident even as he threw the net over the man. At the boy's scream… the woman turned to attack him. He pulled the trident free of the boy's chest and thrust at her midsection… giving the trident a wicked turn so that the gash was wide. She paled and dropped her sword as she sank to her knees. He sliced off her head with the withdrawn trident and turned away as the quickening lanced into the man still tangled in the net.

He picked up the boy's limp body and with him under one arm and the trident in his other hand… he raced off into the gathering darkness. He would deal with the burly man later… now that he was alone. Besides… he wanted to taste the boy first. He was getting very hungry again. Perhaps he'd f--k him first though. And then, of course, there was the final step of his dark father's plan to fulfill. But the boy first.

Behind him in the red-tinted darkness… the immortal screamed in agony as the female's old and powerful quickening tore into him. Immortals… they so wanted it… and at the same time… it was their weakness when they absorbed one. Thankfully he was immune to that particular biological imperative.

----


	62. Chapter Fifty Nine

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

**Niebos:**

Joe fired his gun into the air. At the sound of the single shot… all three immortals stopped yelling at one another and looked up at him.

"Now then. One at a time." Joe pointed the gun at Powers. "What happened here?"

Greg Powers shook his head. "I was taking her to the local jail. Phillip told me that's how years ago the mortals contained her until Phillip could deal with her."

"Who let her up? Who freed her?" Reagan interrupted. She glanced up at Joe's gun and the sword hesitantly. He nodded and gestured for Powers to answer her question.

"Phillip and Eleanor. I think they thought she was all right. She seemed fine at first. There was no sign of the possession."

"What the hell is all of this about?" Steven Keane broke in. "And who the hell are you?" he asked Joe.

"Later," Joe said. "The girl was Nestor?" Powers nodded. "Damn," Joe muttered. "I sent our pilot after her to protect her."

Reagan slowly rose to her feet. "We have to stop her." She held out her hand. Joe shoved his gun into its holster and pulled hers out. Then he passed the sword to her and explained that the others were on the boat. Reagan leaped back on board to gather them all. She tossed the weapons to the others. "Let's go," she ordered.

""I'll only slow you down," Joe said with a shrug. "I'll stay here."

"Not alone you won't," Reagan said. "Steven… stay with Joe. He can fill you in." She motioned to Powers to accompany her.

"But," Steven said. Reagan turned and kissed him before backing away. "That felt like a goodbye kiss," he muttered as she turned to leave. "Reagan?"

Reagan Cole turned back. "Maybe… maybe not. Be careful." She glanced at Joe. "Keep him safe," she said and then she and Powers raced up the street into the gathering gloom of evening.

Joe found a bench where he eased himself down onto it. His heart thumped raggedly in his chest. He'd done too much. Keane sat next to him. Joe fumbled for his pills and popped two into his mouth, swallowing them dryly.

"Okay. Who are you and who is this Nestor? I want answers." Keane said.

Joe sighed. This guy really was a horse's ass. "I'm a historian."

"You study history?"

"Living history," Joe explained. "I study immortals."

Keane sat back thoughtfully. "You interview us?"

Joe grinned. "Well I Watch you guys. MacLeod's my primary assignment. I'm not certain offhand who Watches you."

Keane glanced around. "I'd say no one right now."

Joe nodded in agreement. "Yeah… so right now I'm Watching all of you."

"You know about the game then?"

Joe chuckled. "I do indeed."

"Now about this Nestor fellow and that little girl… what's that all about?"

Joe let out a deep breath. "Ever hear of a dark quickening… a quickening so filled with evil that it can consume any immortal who kills an immortal who possesses it?"

Keane waved a hand. "Myth. Legend. It's not real."

"It's real. I've seen one." Joe rubbed his beard and shifted. He didn't feel right about explaining to Keane about MacLeod's experience. After all… the murder of Sean Burns while Duncan was under its influence was one of the reasons that Keane hated MacLeod. That was a story that even MacLeod hadn't told Keane. No… he'd not tell that one.

"Listen to me. Two thousand years ago there was an immortal called Nestor. He was as bad as they come. Twelve immortals sought to stop him. One of them killed him, but was then possessed by him. The surviving immortals chained him in a cave to prevent him from walking the earth again. About twenty years ago… he freed himself. MacLeod and… some friends managed to contain him again in the body of a young immortal that Nestor had crippled. Eventually about ten years later, he found a way to begin the killings again. That little girl was the only immortal around at the time. The only option she had was to kill him, even knowing what would happen to her if she did so. She killed him… knowing full well that all she was would be lost. Phillip had her hidden somewhere on the island. Now she's free… and the killing begins again."

"Wait. That little girl is some sort of evil immortal?" Keane laughed and rose to pace before Joe. "That child… an abomination among immortals is something we have to fear? You do know that the very existence of those children is an affront to the game. They can't compete and they shouldn't exist. I'm surprised she wasn't killed by the first immortal who crossed her path."

"It's the truth," Joe explained grimly. "You can't kill her. Not now."

Keane's expression suddenly changed as he whipped around. In the darkness stood the child. In one hand she held a knife that dripped blood. She was clothed now… but there was something odd in the way she stood. She was so very still. With a grin she slowly pulled from behind her a severed head, lifting it by its hair in her other hand.

Keane screamed his denial as he drew his sword and furiously attacked her. Behind him, Joe had drawn his gun. "No… let me shoot her! Get out of the way!"

The little girl's red eyes darted towards Joe and then she snarled as she moved towards Keane.

-----

Kenny was being pawed. He opened his eyes only to see a shadowy figure crouched over him. The boyman drew in a sharp breath of sulfurous air and smacked at the creature's hands even as he scooted away from him. He slammed against a downed pillar. The creature had brought him onto what remained of the temple mound… but the idyllic landscape was ruined now. Steam vents and the glow of lava filled the area all around them. As Kenny moved, he felt the tip of the hidden knife still hidden in his pants leg.

"Leave me alone," he spat at the creature. Kenny looked around in the growing darkness for Phillip or Katherine. He didn't see them.

The creature chuckled. His red eyes glowed in his mud-daubed face. Naked and streaked with both mud and blood he laughed cruelly. "They can't hear you. They can't help you," the creature sang in a teasing voice. "You're mine now!" He reached for Kenny and pulled him closer… bending his head close to Kenny's and breathing on him. He ran his tongue over Kenny's face. "Mmm… tasty."

Kenny spat back at him and squirmed in the creature's grip trying to get to the hidden knife.

The creature rose to his full height, still holding Kenny in the air before him. "What shall I eat first?" He laughed as he shook him like a broken doll. "Or shall I have you… eat me?" With a high giggle, he lowered Kenny so that the boyman's mouth was just in front of the creature's engorged c--k. "Suck it boy," the creature rasped as he pulled Kenny closer. "Suck it and live a few moments longer."

Kenny struggled to free himself, but unable to move, he relaxed in the creature's grip and opened his mouth. The creature's iron grip loosened a bit as he sighed in delight. Desperately Kenny eased one hand into his jeans until he was able to grip the knife and pull it free. With a grin he pulled his head back slightly. "Sorry… I never cared for c--k." With a swift move, he sliced the appendage off.

The creature howled in pain as he staggered back… dropping Kenny to the shaking ground. Blood gushed out of the wound, even over the creature's fingers that now desperately pressed against the edges of the opening, trying to seal it.

Kenny tossed the appendage into the darkness. "Maybe rats will like it," he spat. Grasping the knife firmly, Kenny prepared to ram it into the creature's chest.

"Don't kill him!" Phillip roared suddenly out of the darkness. Moments later the swordmaster scrambled over some of the rocks and fallen ruins; he then cast a net over the creature and pulled, flinging the creature to the ground..

"Why not? He's not one of us," Kenny spat again. He rubbed his mouth, still trying to get the taste of the creature out of it.

"No… but just killing him outright might make him stronger." Phillip pulled the net tighter with a practiced ease.

Between his howls of pain, the creature hissed angrily as he struggled for freedom.

Around them the steam continued to burst into the night sky and a heavy smoke hung over everything. Here and there, the openings in the earth glowed red from the rising magna. Sparks sometimes wafted skyward with the steam.

Kenny nodded. "But he's not Nestor."

"Maybe that's how Nestor came to be lad," Phillip said. "Maybe once he was this evil creature who one of us killed… and that evil became a part of him. Legends speak of the original Nestor as an honorable man… the oldest and greatest of the Greek generals."

Kenny nodded thoughtfully. He stared with disgust at the creature writhing in pain on the ground. "He'll likely die from blood loss," he smirked as the howls diminished in strength.

"Aye… so I have to figure something out in a hurry."

The screams of the creature continued to grow weaker. Phillip sat back. "Give me a hand carrying him," he said suddenly.

Kenny shoved his knife into the waist of his jeans. "Where?"

"Into the earth," Phillip said. "If you can't kill a thing… if you can't stop it… you have to find a way to destroy it utterly… at least for a time."

Kenny stared at the vents and then at Phillip's sweaty and soot-streaked face. "Isn't that the same as killing him?"

"Maybe… maybe not. Got a better idea?"

Kenny shook his head. They had to do something and quickly if what Phillip said was true. Together they lifted the now-whimpering creature and carried him to one of the vents. Far below, Kenny could see the red glow of the rising lava.

"On the count of three, then." Phillip ordered as they swung the body to and fro before letting it fall into the crevasse. Down it fell… until it hit the molten lava. Flames flared as the body caught fire and then slipped beneath the surface, cutting off one last agonized howl. Sparks and a small shower of liquid fire leapt into the air as the body vanished beneath the magma.

Phillip and Kenny raced back from the edge and then turned to watch. "If the body's destroyed… he'll have to find another one," Phillip said. He turned to Kenny and put his arms on his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Kenny nodded as he glanced back at the rising sparks.

"Let's get out of here. We still have to find Nestor," Phillip said grimly.

"What about Katherine?"

"Dead," Phillip replied, his voice filled with regret. "By the way… glad you have your voice back."

Kenny blushed as he followed the swordmaster down the mountain. He hadn't even thought about that.

-----

**Further down the mountain:**

"Stay close, boy," John told Micah as the small one moved further ahead; his young-seeming legs moving faster down the darkened mountain than John's older ones.

Micah stopped to look back as if confused. "Shouldn't we hurry?"

"We need to stay together. We don't know who or what we'll meet ahead."

By this time John had caught up with Micah so the small one turned and kept pace with the older immortal. "You really think Greg is Nestor now?"

"I'd bet on it," John seethed between gritted teeth. He'd trusted Greg! True… Grace was the one who'd asked him to join with them to create a child… but John had trusted him! He'd tried not to show how angry he was about Phillip and Eleanor's brief explanation about the events in the cove and Greg's treachery. He'd comforted Grace who'd been distraught over what had happened. John had felt like an outsider comforting a woman over the death of a lover. But _he_ was her lover! _He_ was Hope's biological father. So why was Grace so upset? These thoughts and others had been streaming through his mind for hours. Yet he said nothing. Between the thoughts were glimpses of memories he had of Greg with Grace… and that easy way they'd had with one another, before, during and after Hope's conception and birth. He'd been a fool to open himself up like that! A fool to dare to truly love! One hand gripped Micah's shoulder tightly when John stumbled slightly over some loose rock.

"Sorry," he said, stopping to catch his breath and removing his hand.

The boy rubbed his should thoughtfully. "Something wrong? I mean besides this whole Nestor is loose and there is something else evil on the island?"

John shook his head. "Maybe just my own fears regarding commitment and atonement for my life. Maybe I don't deserve happiness." He began the descent once more. In the growing darkness… nothing was what it seemed and the footing… treacherous and difficult earlier… was more so.

"I feel…" Micah began to say. John nodded as he hefted his broadsword. He could feel it too.

"At least two of them," he muttered in warning. It had to be Greg and Valeraine… Nestor. John pushed slightly ahead of Micah, quickly trying to find a level and secure spot to fight and defend the two of them.

Micah drew his _wakizashi_. "I may be much younger… but I can deal with Val. I always could."

"Just don't kill her. Don't take her head," John warned. His head snapped up in the darkness at the sound of a voice.

"Who's there?" It was Powers asking. He sounded as he'd always sounded… but it was likely a trap. He wanted to put them at ease. John grit his teeth. It wouldn't work. As he saw Greg's form take shape a few feet away, he readied his attack. He swung the broadsword up and lunged at Greg… ready to impale him.

Greg managed to parry and by jumping to one side, avoid the thrust. The two men circled one another in the gathering gloom.

"I should have known," Greg yelled. "It was all pretense. You're finally showing your true colors!" He lunged back at John with several quick slicing movements.

"You're the one playing a part," John replied as he blocked the moves with several of his own. For the first time since coming across that field of murdered children… John was ready to kill again. Even the darkness seemed tinged with red, so angry was he that this immortal had betrayed them all."

"Stop it! Both of you!" a woman cried out. "Where's Phillip?"

"He's killed him," Greg shouted and began another attack with a flurry of movements.

"You'll never get Phillip," Micah raged and launched his own attack at the woman. Above them on the mountain, a quickening went off. The blue-white quickening arced into the air… so that the battle was lit with flickering energy and the sparks as their swords met one another seemed to crackle with additional power. Then the red-hued darkness fell again as the four immortals continued their desperate fight.

One of John's blows slipped through Powers' defense and he felt the satisfying cut into muscle and sinew. Powers backed away, holding his side. John could hear the exchange of a fist coming to bear on a face from the other two combatants. He glanced and saw Micah crumple to the ground. He attacked Powers again, determined to stop him and the female. It had yet to register on him who this could be. It didn't matter… all that mattered was stopping Greg!

The woman fired off a shot into the air. "Stop fighting!" she shouted and then aimed at John.

The two men circled, their blows coming fast and furious by this time.

"Don't interfere!" Powers yelled.

"He's mine!" cried John as both men attacked again. Their blades caught and they circled and then pushed off… both men were breathing heavily. On the mountaintop, a shower of sparks rose into the air. At the same time… all four immortals, even Micah who was stirring and sitting up, rubbing his jaw, were aware that another quickening had gone off… not blue-white and arcing into the air… and not on the mountain.

This one glowed almost like fire and even from this distance… they were aware that the red cast of it was nearly black. They felt the shuddering evil of it even as they watched. A cold and foul wind blew from the village below and on it they heard voices screaming in pain and denial.

John and Greg halted their fight. Both men shuddered as the cold wind and the smell of something rotten passed over them. They met one another's gaze in sudden understanding. Neither of them was possessed.

"Nestor!" they cried out in understanding.

"Steven," whispered the woman. She raced down the mountain. Greg and John paused a moment longer to glare at each other, and then followed her, their swords still drawn. Micah rose, retrieved his sword and ran behind them.

-----


	63. Chapter Sixty

**Chapter Sixty**

**Aboard the _Lady Ambergris II_:**

The falling darkness of night seemed oppressive. Impatient and brooding, Methos flung open the pilothouse door. "How much longer?" he snarled.

Derrick glanced up at him. "I can't change the laws of physics. Sometime in early morning I'd guess."

Methos slammed a hand into the framework of the door and then stalked across the deck, shooting daggers from his eyes as he passed the Egyptian. More than anything, he wanted to toss him into the ocean. If it would shorten their voyage by even a single second… he might have chanced it.

Off to the left, he noticed the blinking lights of the helicopter as it veered off. Evidently it had to refuel. He didn't see another one.

Leaning over their "guest" he smirked. "Your friends have left you."

"But Derrick's promise of a fair fight when we make port are still viable… yes?"

Methos' lip curled and he moved back, pacing still like a caged tiger. The man's actions were unfathomable to him. After all… it was insanity to put oneself into the path of certain death. Surely he realized that even if he killed Derrick… one of the others would kill him. Did the man have no sense of survival?

Methos whipped around… a memory teased at the edge of his mind. He stared at the form of the Egyptian… trying to peel away the layers. Did he know him? And then it came to him. He leaned over the man and whispered one word to him… a word in ancient Egyptian… a word that meant… "_Slave_."

The Egyptian started and glanced warily up at Methos… his eyes suddenly wide with fear, the air of superiority gone. Methos snorted derisively, pivoted and walked once more toward the bow. He stared out at the darkness as the memory passed over him.

Intrigued by travelers' tales of the Egyptian Pharaoh Hatshepsut, who wisely ruled the ancient land… and who dressed as a man, Methos had returned to Egypt from the Middle East determined to meet her. In time, he'd become one of her lovers, and had risen to the post of prime architect of her temple at Deir el Bahrii in Thebes. As he'd overseen the building project, he'd sensed among the slaves, the pre-immortal potential of one of them. Methos had marked it and moved on. The slave was unimportant. Even when a falling stone crushed the man… it had been the stone that was important. He'd ordered the slave's body thrown into the refuse pit and Methos had then turned his attention to the task of salvaging the fallen stone. By the time he'd thought to check on the new immortal… the man was gone.

Methos had shrugged and continued working. He hadn't wanted a student anyway. Nearly a century later, he'd seen him again briefly, acting as a scribe in the household of another immortal. Not long after, his friend had died at the hands of his scholarly student. It was the same man… Methos was certain of it now. He could recognize both the thin slave and the shaven scholar beneath the layers of superiority that the Egyptian exuded. He existed because Methos had not wanted a student at the time and had not bothered to kill the former slave when he'd killed Methos' friend. This piece of cattle dung that had dared to rape his daughter existed because Methos had turned his back on him. Inwardly he seethed… angry with himself that his focus on his personal survival that overshadowed every act he'd ever performed… had been the reason this immortal still lived.

He turned, feeling Alisaunne returning to his side, and smelling the coffee she was carrying. "Here… it's chilly out here. Michelle made it and said to pass some around," she said lightly and poured him a cup from the carafe. "Sugar? Creamer?"

Methos shook his head as he eyed the Egyptian over the rim of the cup. "Black is fine."

"You and Eleanor… black and straight… no need for the niceties of civilization," Ali laughed.

Methos reacted, startled. Was he this transparent? "Sorry… I was just recalling where I knew this piece of shit from."

She chuckled. "I figured since he styled himself the Egyptian that you might have crossed paths before."

"I should have killed him a hundred times over."

"Get in line," Alisaunne said with a hollow tone. "I think the rest of us want him dead even more."

Methos nodded. "I seldom feel regret…"

"I know that."

"But I do regret not taking his head when I had the chance."

Alisaunne chuckled. "Oh don't get maudlin and sorry on my account. This man had lots of choices to decide the course of his life. He doesn't see himself as evil… I guess most evil men don't."

Methos sipped at the coffee. "Still… he dared to lay hands on you."

"And it meant nothing," she said and kissed his cheek. "He's important only if I let him be."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "When did you get so smart?"

"I guess I got that from you," she winked.

He noticed Warren Cochrane regarding them with a stern expression. "You should be careful of Cochrane… he's another one who should have died years ago."

"Ren? At your hands?"

Methos shook his head. "We never formally met. I never liked meeting too many other immortals… thus my anger at Derrick for bringing so many to the island and my discomfort at sailing with them to rescue you. No… but he and MacLeod came to blows several times."

"Oh," she replied as she turned to smile back at the Scotsman. "Well… I'll deal with that when the time comes."

Methos clasped her arm as he hissed quietly. "Just be careful."

"Always," she laughed as she kissed his cheek again before pulling loose, and then heading toward Cochrane. She poured him some coffee as well, kissed him deeply on the lips when he said something to her with a gesture toward Methos, and then she'd moved on.

Methos returned to glaring at the Egyptian who now refused to look at him or acknowledge his existence. He rubbed his temples. He hadn't slept at all last night… and the night before he and Eleanor had been rather involved. He smiled grimly, recalling the predatory nature of her recent lovemaking. Clearly some of his darkness was rubbing off on her. Feeling slightly aroused, he sent her a mental kiss. Too bad there were so many others around… too bad they both had to be vigilant this night. After all… they'd always enjoyed exploring old memories when separated… especially his oldest ones… his days with the horsemen. Perhaps she'd like to explore his memories of Hatshepsut and of the Egyptian.

She brushed lightly and teasingly against his mind and was gone again. _Busy! Maybe later!_ He finished the coffee and glared again at the Egyptian. If Derrick didn't kill this immortal once they reached Niebos… he certainly would.

-----

**Niebos:**

Aiming carefully at the child, Joe Dawson pulled the trigger twice, and then grunted to see her collapse on the dock. The head she'd been carrying rolled to one side. It was clearly a woman's head, and Keane must have thought it was Reagan Cole's… but to Joe… the hair looked long and dark-colored as it covered the dead face.

"We need to contain her," Joe shouted.

"No… we need to kill her!" Keane shouted and then… as if playing golf… he whipped his sword through the child's body so that the head went flying off into the ocean where it sank quickly beneath the waves.

For the second time in his life… Joe Dawson was at ground zero as he watched a dark quickening manifest itself in the aftermath of the child's death. If he'd had any doubts about Nestor residing in that small body… he didn't now.

The darkness that rose from the body was the very antithesis of the light and energy that quickenings generally were. It seemed a darkness made to swallow all light… and it was a heavy and slow-moving thing like some sort of malevolent cloud that settled on Steven Keane. Red lightning shot through him as he screamed… his arms thrust out at his sides as if fighting it off. He seemed to flicker from positive to negative and back again several times in the light-swallowing darkness.

Joe's mouth opened and he gulped. While the Quickening raged, he hastily reloaded his handgun… not that it would do too much good he had a feeling. But he'd shot MacLeod while under one and thus saved Richie's life… but not in the end… the thought clutched at his heart. Duncan had stilled killed him… though not that night. He'd seen it… and there had been some of this same negative energy whirling about MacLeod that night as well… whirling about him and yet not able to reach him. The gun loaded, Joe snapped the cylinder shut with a practiced move. The red-black of this quickening seemed to mirror the red sparks shooting out of the volcano in triumph.

The Quickening subsided with a whoosh of power. The child's body was consumed in the flames that surrounded Keane. The Englishman looked over at Joe and smiled knowingly.

Joe fired the gun. Keane reacted and staggered but seemed to fight through the shots and take steps forward. "That hurt," he hissed even as he reached Joe and grasped him by the neck. Joe pushed the muzzle of his gun against Keane's stomach and emptied round after round into him until the chambers clicked on empty.

Keane released his grasp on Joe's neck. Joe could see blood trickling down from Keane's mouth. "Die you sonofabitch!" Joe shouted.

Keane's eyes widened. He licked his teeth and lips and took another step toward Joe… then he whirled around. "They come. Survival is imperative." He turned back swiftly and pushed at Joe roughly to get him out of his way as he headed for the launch.

Joe stumbled back… his balance off kilter. His feet tangled in something and he went flying off the dock into the cold black waters of the Aegean Sea. His cane went flying out of one hand and the gun slipped from the grasp of his other hand as the water closed over his head and he began to sink down into the inky depths of the harbor. He struggled to come to the surface, trying to kick out… but the legs were so heavy they were dragging him down. Far above him… he sense the launch's motor start.

He had to get free before he drowned. Joe fumbled with his belt and then with the suction levers and the belt holding the legs on. If he could get free of them… he might have a chance. His head felt wrapped in cotton and his fingers were numb and unfeeling as he continued to sink. He hit an uneven and rocky bottom. His legs crumpled as they came loose. Desperately, Joe Dawson thought of Amy and the twins and wondered if they'd ever know what happened to him as he managed to free himself from his prosthetic legs and push off in what he hoped was the direction of the surface of the water. He was out of air… his lungs were on fire… the sound of his heart pounded raggedly in his ears until the blackness of the water was secondary to the blackness he was sinking into. He released the last gasp of air and began to sink once more.

_-----_

Nestor crowed in delight as he pushed the launch's motor to full-speed and felt it skip along the surface of the ocean waves. He was free once more! And this time… they would pay… those who had bedeviled him for millennia… those who had imprisoned him. This body was young and strong… as well as reasonably gifted with a blade. He also had money and resources.

Nestor would vanish into the darkness and lay his plans. As for his master's child… well… he might have died… but he was eternal. He would find his own way back and the two of them would prepare the world for the return of Ahriman… the evil one. He continued to laugh as he vanished into the darkness. First stop… Athens!

-----


	64. Entr'Acte Three

**Entr'Acte Three**

_**Cathedral Notre Dame de Paris, 1622:**_

Lifting the small twist of rush, Connor MacLeod placed it in the guttering flame of a candle until it caught fire. Then he selected another candle and lit it. "For you my bonnie Heather," he whispered as he extinguished the rush-light with a strong breath and laid it aside.

In the background of this immense cathedral, a service was going on and the voices of the all-male choir of monks lifted in the plainsong chants that were so much a part of the Roman Catholic services. Connor wasn't certain he was still a Catholic… being an immortal and a part of the game… but Heather had believed… and it was for Heather that he was here.

He knelt at the _pres dieu_ and folded his hands, thinking of the love of his life and of his sorrow at her death just over thirty years ago. Even as an old woman he'd loved her… he pulled out the lock of her golden hair that he carried… cut before her hair turned cottony white. He smiled as he fingered it. "It's your birthday Heather. You'd be a hundred years old this year if you were still living… if you were one of us." Connor closed his eyes and shuddered. He would not wish this horror and curse on anyone… no matter how much he wished that she were still alive.

"How to tell you the things I've seen since your last birthday," he continued. "I'm in France right now." He laughed, his staccato laugh sounding even above the distant choristers. "Aye… I know. Land of the bloody frogs your da called them. But they're not bad here. I've even met a few like me. I live and I learn." He paused and sighed deeply; as along his back he felt the unmistakable presence of another immortal. He looked about, noticing the tall slim form of a black-garbed priest stopping to talk to people as he made his way through the cathedral.

"What's he doing here?" Connor murmured. Darius was almost always at the small church across the river. What was he doing here at **_Notre Dame_**? The immortal priest glanced up at him, flashed a smile, and continued talking to the people milling about the cathedral.

Connor turned back to face the candles. "There's even one here who tells me the game might be something other than what Ramirez told me. But I saw what the Kurgan did to him… and I canna believe him." He crossed himself automatically and rose, turning to watch the service at the far end. He leaned against one of the stone pillars and crossed his arms.

"I always enjoy the music here. My church is too small to have much of a choir," Darius said as he stopped beside Connor.

"Aye… the music is grand."

Darius chuckled. "You make it sound like it is not to your liking."

"It's not that," Connor said with a sigh and then turned to gaze at the immortal priest. "How is it you are here? I thought you never left holy ground."

"Unless I'm very much mistaken… this _is_ holy ground," Darius replied with a touch of amusement. Connor noticed the twinkle in the priest's eye.

"But not in between."

"And yet I am here safely."

Connor turned back to watch the service. Blast this priest! He was always hinting at things and yet never explaining them. In many ways… he was like Ramirez. He wondered if he himself lived to the ripe old age of a thousand if he'd be as enigmatic as these two and Nakano had been. He was over a century now… but these ancient immortals always made him feel like a wet-behind-the-ears youth. "Ya speak in riddles old man," he finally spat out.

"Riddles. Yes. I was always fond of riddles." Darius clasped his hands behind him and rocked slightly back and forth as he hummed along with the choir.

Connor snorted and turned to leave. Darius accompanied him out of the church and into the bright sunshine.

"Truly a beautiful day. Not one to be spent indoors," Darius mused aloud.

"I thought you wanted to listen to the choir?" Connor replied, wondering what the immortal truly wanted.

"I can listen to them another day. You might not be in Paris much longer and I would spend the time with you."

"Do ya know something I don't?" Connor asked him.

Darius chuckled. "Likely many things… but in this case… I was just making conversation. Our kind come and go through the city as if it were a way station only on their journeys."

"And yet you remain."

"Well… I did my wandering when I was young."

Connor snorted. One of the French friends he'd made here, Pierre Bouchet, had told him that Darius had once been a great general and a warrior before taking up the cloth. "Wandering… killing… raping," Connor murmured.

"Well it was a different time. We all did those things."

"I haven't," Connor retorted.

Darius nodded. "Which is why I would speak with you. Ramirez taught you well."

"I learned at my father's knee; may he rest in peace."

Darius nodded. "Yes… the times are changing… people are changing… and there is hope for the future."

"And an end to the game without all of us dyin'. Aye… you've spoken of that often enough. How can this happen?"

Darius paused at the base of the steps and turned to him. "Do what Ramirez did. Find a student and teach him what you know."

Connor shook his head. "Why teach someone what I know. I'm still young… I'm still learning… and I don't have a death wish."

"You've had excellent teachers… Ramirez, Cavanaugh, Nakano, even Bouchet."

"And you," Connor added a bit reluctantly. "Though there are times you remind me of that mad hermit I met in Scotland years ago."

"Timothy of Gilliam… yes… he was a student of mine for a brief time. He ended up taking holy orders before going to England in the eleventh century," Darius said with a nod. "Though I fear his unbending moral code both helped him stand against the forces of evil… and robbed him of his mind. He killed his wife you know… and his student."

"You gossip like an old woman," Connor smirked.

"I only wanted you to understand, Connor, that one must grow and change with the times. One must be open to change… it is the one constant of our immortal lives. One cannot remain as one always was. We who are immortal have the chance to see the tapestry of history play out around us. We have the chance to help mortal man improve. We who see and remember the errors of the past… can help prevent those errors from happening again. You should find and take a student."

Darius smiled and turned away.

"Do ya have one in mind ya old barbarian or should I go looking for one?"

Darius paused. "I just meant you should be open to the idea of teaching someone what you have learned so far in your first century, Connor MacLeod. You might want to find one here," Darius gestured around them. Then he continued, "Or go home to Scotland to find one whose background is similar to yours."

"Another in the Highlands?" Connor murmured. His heart leaped at the thought of returning there. Surely by this time, no one would remember him… though he'd have to stay away from Glencoe. But to see the Five Sisters again… to climb those mountains and smell the fresh breeze off the lochs, to walk amidst the heather, to listen to the keening cry of a falcon on the wind, and to taste real Scots _quisghe_ and haggis again. He sighed as he recalled all of these things and more.

"You might also check on Timothy for me if you go. I worry about him in his madness," Darius said offhandedly.

Connor suddenly shot the priest a suspicious look. "Brother Timothy? Why? He's mad as a hatter. The one time I saw him… I thought about just killing him. No immortal should be like that. Kept going on and on about waiting for someone."

Darius nodded. "So I've heard. Though as he was a fearsome fighter in his day… I doubt he would be easy to kill unless he wanted to be."

Connor's mouth twisted. He'd been surprised that day… even before Heather had died… to sense an immortal while he'd been hunting along Loch Bannoch. He'd drawn Ramirez's _samurai_ sword and stalked toward the other through the undergrowth… fully prepared to fight to the death. But the man he'd found had not been a threat to him… indeed hadn't even seemed too interested in him at all. He'd kept babbling on about a child born on the Winter Solstice. At one point he'd asked Connor what his birthday was… and had seemed disappointed when he'd told him 'twas a ten-day after the solstice. "Then I wait," the mad old hermit had babbled as he'd turned away and shuffled off to his cave. Connor had sensed something of holy ground about the place anyway. For a moment he'd thought he heard odd voices singing on the wind. But he'd moved on and had never been back there.

Startled suddenly, Connor looked around. He felt another immortal but saw no one. Darius laid a hand softly on his arm. "Peace Connor. 'Tis only my other student. I must go now." Darius moved off into the square before the cathedral and vanished amidst the milling crowd. Connor thought he caught a glimpse of the priest walking with his hands clasped firmly behind him beside a woman of slight stature… but he couldn't be certain as the crowd closed in behind them.

Connor thought again of the Highlands and sighed. Perhaps it _was_ time to go home again. And should he find a young immortal there… one still wet-behind-the-ears… perhaps he'd begin to train the lad. He could certainly go home again. No one in Glenfinnan would recognize him. He could sit at the pub and listen to the gossip. He could see how the Clan MacLeod was getting on. He wondered if they were as superstitious and as frightened of odd occurrences as they had been nearly a century ago. He wondered if the story of his banning were still told about the hearth fire.

As he stepped out into the square on his way to Pierre Bouchet's for dinner, he wondered if he truly did have what it took to mold a new immortal as Ramirez had once molded him. The Horne woman often took students… Bouchet had once told him… but all of them were so much older than he was. His step quickened. The idea had merit. He'd discuss it with them both over dinner. Maybe Darius was hoping for an army of immortals… a new type of army… one which would work together to end the game. He laughed. He didn't think he was suited for the cloth however. He was too much a warrior.

-----

**The Highlands, 1625:**

When he'd stopped at Timothy's cave at Loch Bannoch … he'd found a grave. "So you did die you old madman," Connor mused as he crouched beside the marked grave. "Whoever killed you respected you enough to bury you… or was it someone else?" He rose and glanced into the darkened cave. Timothy's things were still there. Connor lit a torch and looked through them, but found nothing of interest except a bit of writing on a sheepskin.

_He comes, he comes, the expected one  
__Child of the winter solstice._  
_He who died and lives again.  
__On his shoulders rests the fate of us all.  
__Against the forces of darkness  
__Will he be tested._

Connor tossed it down thoughtfully and then set fire to it. While cryptic, it shouldn't be left lying around. Then he set fire to all of Timothy's belongings and left the cave. In Glenfinnan he'd heard that the clans had gathered and a battle was to take place at Glen Fruin. He'd also heard tales about another MacLeod… this one the son of a clan chieftain… who'd died and been banished but who still appeared in the area… lending his swordarm to those who needed his help. Connor patted his horse's head and gave him a lump of sugar.

"What say we head to Glen Fruin my four-legged friend and see if this Duncan MacLeod is there among the dead? I have a feeling, he may be the student I'm looking for."

He sprang onto his horse, which reared up and then, with his trademark staccato laugh sounding on the wind, Connor MacLeod rode off towards the battlefield at Glen Fruin.

-----


	65. 4 Against the Forces of Darkness Ch 61

**Part Four:_ Against the Forces of Darkness_**

**Chapter Sixty-One**

**In flight over India:**

The exodus from Burma had gone well. The only thing that had surprised Duncan MacLeod was when he'd glanced at the birth certificate and travel papers for the baby. "Ian Connor MacLeod?" he'd said with exasperation. He darted a dark glance at Amanda who was dressing the baby in some of the clothing she'd bought.

"Oh don't give me that," she laughed. "You kept thinking it so I told Kiem Sun to put that on the papers. Besides… he was to be our child if we're going to get him out of here. Poor thing… born prematurely." She'd winked then. "We weren't expecting him for another few months."

Duncan had rolled his eyes. But the paperwork was flawless and the authorities hadn't given any of them a second glance. Of course if the MacLeod name came to the attention of **_Interpol_**, Duncan might have some problems. He'd have to change paperwork on all of them once they arrived in Greece.

He glanced at the news headlines being shown on the small screen on the back of the seat before him and his unease grew. He was worried about his friends. He didn't want to lose any more. Perhaps that was why he'd made no objection when Kiem had also boarded the plane and sat in first class. The Oriental might yet be of help.

Duncan sat back and reached to take the baby from Amanda. She surrendered him with a smile while Duncan cradled the small infant in his arms. He looked much better all cleaned up and dressed in pale blue. Duncan only wished that Kate were here to see him. Guilt again raised its head from the depths of his soul… but at least he wasn't blaming Ian… no… Ian Connor now. He smiled. Amanda was right. The name was better and seemed to fit the small red-faced and fair-haired infant.

Duncan lightly rubbed a finger over the child's face. No quickening crackled so he must finally have enough for right now. The boy was asleep, his little fists held before his face like a pugilist ready to do battle.

"Sleep little one," Duncan murmured to the child he was calling his son. "You'll have fights aplenty in the future… but none today." As if he heard and understood, the infant shifted in his sleep slightly and lowered his fists. He sighed, smacked his lips and continued sleeping.

"I think he likes you," Amanda said, leaning over and touching the soft blue blanket she'd bought to wrap him in. "he knows you'll take care of him."

"He's no longer hungry. How much formula did you give him?"

"Oh… only what he wanted. Besides… I think he's also full of…" she glanced at the stewardess leaning over to get a look at the baby.

"Oh he's so cute," the young woman was saying. "He's so little, he must be a newborn."

"Yes… bit of a surprise," Amanda said with a nervous laugh. "You know… last vacation before the baby comes and the baby… comes."

"Well you look like you're doing well," the young woman said. "You look trim and fit."

Amanda blushed. "Yes… well…" She did pull-up motions with her arms. "I kept in shape. Exercise and eating right… that's the ticket."

The stewardess nodded and moved on down the aisle.

"Don't overdo it," Duncan warned. "We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves."

Amanda turned toward him with a slight pout. "All new parents are overly enthusiastic. It would draw more attention if we weren't."

"Are you his mother then?"

Amanda sobered. "Guess I have to be for right now. I mean even my paperwork says Amanda MacLeod. Imagine that!"

Duncan chuckled. "Imagine that." He was silent for a few moments. Then he turned to her again. "Once we get back to Greece… we have to tell them everything and the two of us have to figure out what to do now. Where do we go from here?"

Amanda smiled and he caught a vision of the two of them making love. "I can think of where I'd like to be right now," she said with teasing twinkle in her eye.

"Please!" Duncan groaned. "Not in front of the baby!"

Amanda laughed and then settled back in the seat with one of the in-flight magazines. This wasn't one of those high-altitude flights. Kiem Sun had thought this would be better. Their swords were in the checked baggage in a steamer trunk they'd purchased before flying out of Burma and thankfully, there were no other immortals on board.

On the small screens, additional footage of the eruption on Niebos flickered. Duncan focused again on the news… seeking information and wondering what had happened to set off a volcano that had been dead for over two thousand years. Phillip had once told him that it had never so much as rumbled or sent out steam in all the time he'd lived there. But something had set it off… and Duncan was worried about what that something might have been.

He glanced out the window at the darkness of the night… and fretted… wishing he'd insisted on a faster flight. Duncan had a very uneasy feeling about what had happened.

-----

Kiem Sun gratefully took the offered drink from the stewardess, mumbling his thanks and sat back in his seat, observing the others dozing in the dimly lit cabin. He'd selected this flight because it was a red-eye night flight that would have few passengers and only marginal security. Most of those in first class were professionals either going home or heading back to the country they currently worked in. They were sleepy and uninterested in the people around them. From what he'd seen of the rest of the passengers before the stewardess had pulled the curtain separating them from first class, Kiem had seen more of the same.

He recalled Duncan's insistence on a flight to Athens. He'd thought that the Highlander would be more interested in a flight to Italy where Amanda lived. The charming thief had mentioned a villa in… was it Florence? It was that sudden need to go to Greece… and the odd eruption of a volcano on an island in the area that had made Kiem Sun come with them. One of his visions had been of a landscape similar to that of a volcano with flowing lava.

Slowly he sipped his drink and considered why he was here. Was it to protect MacLeod? Was it to protect the baby… that precious pre-immortal who had been born… actually born? Kiem hadn't seen any new ones in decades. Neither MacLeod nor Amanda had made any real attempt to explain the birth of this child to him… nor had they explained how they somehow had known of this impending birth even before MacLeod looked into the crystal.

"This child is important somehow," Kiem murmured to himself. Perhaps that is what he was here for… to protect this child rather than Duncan MacLeod. Setting his drink down on the lap table, Kiem stared at the curtain of night outside. They were above the cloud layer and the sickle moon and stars shone with silver light that reflected off the clouds. Far below them, the earth passed in darkness unaware of the flight or the silver light that illuminated the cloud-tops. For the first time since he'd seen MacLeod enter his house, Kiem Sun felt like he had seen and understood one of the secrets of his vision. MacLeod might well have to face the darkness… but the boy was a key to the future. Kiem Sun chuckled to himself knowingly and picked up his drink once more, polishing it off swiftly. He raised a hand to gesture to the stewardess that he wanted another one.

As she was fixing it, Sun began to lay his plans so that when the moment came… he would be ready to act.

-----

**Niebos:**

Seeing the dark quickening explode far below in the village, lent wings to Phillip's flight down the mountain. He'd recognized the look of it. Valeraine was dead… he knew this… and Nestor was free… but in whom?

Behind him, Kenny, the boyman struggled to keep pace. "Does that mean what I think it means?" Kenny asked between harsh intakes of ragged breaths.

"Aye lad. The monster has taken another of us… and I've failed someone I cared about once again." Phillip replied bitterly. Part of him wept for the loss of that child whom he'd tried so hard to save. For over a dozen years, he'd hoped against hope that Nestor could be driven out of her and that she'd be herself again. Was that why he'd been taken in at the cove? He should have grabbed her and imprisoned her again instead of worrying about the others and about the creature he and Kenny had disposed of.

A spume of red lava shot into the air. Phillip paused to glance back at it. "I fear the earth won't hold that thing very long," a worried Phillip remarked. "I have a feeling fire is its natural element." He continued his hurried descent to the village. He couldn't fight them both… he understood that on some level… but he had to try. There had to be a way to stop this evil from growing and spreading.

"Be my champion?" Danäe… Aja… had once asked him. He'd sworn to do so long before he'd ever known what that meant. But he feared to fall to either of the evils… the immortal one or the eternal one. Through him they'd have too much power. He needed help and perhaps in recognizing that fact at this juncture… he might yet figure out a way to stop evil from winning.

"Stay close Kenny, and be prepared. I don't know what we'll find."

By this time they'd reached the outlying limits of the village. Like two old western gunslingers, the two immortals strode down the center of the main street of the village, ready to take on anyone or anything that moved. The ground rumbled beneath their feet while the sounds of an impending eruption grew once more from the volcano. Phillip wondered if any of them would survive if this thing blew its top. He could still recall the old stories about the massive eruption on Thera… now called Santorini. It had once been a much larger island than it was today and home to the mighty Minoan civilization. He'd asked Methos about it once… about that eruption… about what had caused it…but his friend had only shaken his head and said nothing. Generally Methos didn't comment even to Phillip about things he didn't want other immortals to know. Or maybe he'd never been there. At least the people of Niebos were safe… evacuated to Athens and to other islands.

Kenny kept pace with him, occasionally skipping so that both immortals strode with the same foot forward. Kenny's shorter legs meant he had to take extra steps to keep up… and then he'd mimic Phillip's stride for a while before falling out of step and having to repeat the process. Ahead of them… Phillip felt immortals on the dock. He pointed ahead in the darkness. "There… be ready."

Kenny grunted his agreement. "Yeah… I feel them… four of them I think."

"That doesn't make sense. We saw the quickening go off. Someone else must be on the island." He paused as he passed the dead body of a man. "Who is that?"

Kenny crouched next to the man. "I've never seen him. Could he have come on that boat you saw?"

A fist squeezed Phillip's heart. _The boat! If Nestor had gotten to the boat… he'd be free once more. Dammit! Dammit to hell!_ Phillip's pace quickened. His shortsword gleamed redly in the light. He was ready to fight. _Don't let him escape!_

As they neared the stone dock, he saw two people… one appeared to be John, kneeling at the edge of the dock. The other was a woman. She turned and he recognized her as the light hit her blonde hair. "Phillip? Oh thank the gods!" Reagan Cole said and took several steps toward him.

"Be careful," John Kirin called out from the edge of the dock. "It could be a trap."

Reagan stopped, her sword held firmly in her hand. "Phillip?" she questioned.

The Greek nodded. "Aye… 'tis me lass. Bad time to visit. You should have called first."

With a sigh of relief, Reagan flung her arms around him. "I did. You didn't reply so I figured you were in trouble."

"Trouble… aye… big trouble. Who's with you?" Phillip could still feel two other immortals in the area.

"Oh… your people… Greg Powers and Micah. They're in the water. Steven pushed a mortal into the water and they're trying to bring him up."

From the dock, Kirin gave out a yell and moved to help haul a strangely foreshortened body onto the deck. Greg hauled himself up next… and began mouth to mouth.

"Is that a child?" Phillip said almost hopefully.

"No… a Watcher by the name of Joe Dawson."

That explained his strangely misshapen form in the darkness. Dawson was the friend of MacLeod… Methos… and Ellie. He was the one who'd lost his legs.

Micah's voice drifted out of the darkness along with a splash. "I think I found them!"

Phillip moved forward, noting sorrowfully the still smoldering small corpse. "Who killed her?" he asked Reagan.

"Steven Keane… know him?" Regan replied with a breaking voice that told Phillip he was a very close friend… perhaps a lover. She wiped at her eyes.

"No… never heard of him," Phillip commented flatly. He wished he had something with which to cover Valeraine's body… but he didn't. Regretfully, he moved on to crouch next to Dawson who was coughing up water as Greg turned him onto his side. He'd never actually met Dawson… not really.

One of Dawson's hands clutched at his chest. "Pills," he managed to say. Greg went through Dawson's pockets until he found a vial. He popped it open and poured several into his palm. "Two of them," Dawson managed again and dry-swallowed the ones Greg placed in his mouth. He lay back and shuddered as he breathed heavily. "Damn! He got away, didn't he? Tried to stop him."

"You're lucky to be alive," Greg said sitting back. He glanced up as John leaned over the edge of the dock again and helped drag something onto the dock. "What's that?"

"His legs," John said. Phillip could detect a cold tone to John's voice. Evidently something had happened earlier… it still lay between the two men.

Phillip rose to stare morosely out across the dark sea. Nothing appeared to move and the dark waters met the edge of night without a clear-cut horizon in this gloom. The smoke from the volcano occluded moon and stars overhead. He'd ordered Nikos to use all the boats or to destroy them… not to leave anything here that could be used to escape. Now that plan was shot to hell. Nestor was free and there was no way to follow him at present. No way to warn the others… because they didn't need them on the island, few of them had phonecards so that he could call them and warn them. He doubted picking up phonecards had been on anyone's mind in their rush to get the children off the island.

On the dock Dawson coughed and rummaged in his pockets. "Here… warn her!"

Phillip turned to the Watcher, wondering how the man had known he was wondering how to contact Eleanor. He noticed the slim phonecard in the elderly Watcher's hand. Phillip took it from him gently. "Warn who?" he asked curiously… just to be certain.

"Ellie! Sonofabitch is headed to Athens. That's where she is… isn't it."

Phillip slowly nodded his head. "Who do I call?"

The Watcher sobered and met Phillip's haunted gaze. "Oh. She doesn't have a phone on her?"

Phillip reluctantly shook his head.

"What about Adam? He's with her isn't he?"

Phillip stared at the ocean and fingered the card. "That might work." On the other hand… he was certain that Methos was too far away to reach them and a call would only make him frantic. "I have some government contact numbers on my phone system and computer at the villa. I need to go back there anyway… there are a number of items there we yet might need." He turned to leave. _Did Methos even have his phonecard with him? He'd likely have used the bond to stay in touch with Eleanor…so he'd know something was wrong on her end. _The card _chirped_ suddenly in his hand before he'd gone more than a couple of steps. Phillip stared at it dully a moment and then answered it.

"Dad? You sound strange?" a woman's voice said.

"Mr. Dawson is fine. He wanted me to use his phone. One moment please," Phillip replied stiffly and tossed the phone to Kenny. "Give that to Dawson. Evidently it's his daughter." With that… Phillip sped up his pace as he headed to the villa.

On the top of the mountain… where the temple complex had stood from long before he ever lived… flames and lava now shot into the air. Phillip would have to deal with the creature and leave Nestor to the others. But how? Could an immortal stand against the powers of darkness and fire? Against hate and an icy evil? Somehow, he rather doubted it.

"_Protect my people. Be… my champion_." The memory of Danäe's voice drifted through his mind.

"Aye lady… but how?" he asked the night. There was no answer.

-----


	66. Chapter Sixty Two

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

**Athens:**

It was past dark by the time Eleanor finally returned to Denara's small house. She stopped at the door and knocked, feeling only one immortal on the other side of the heavy wooden door. Good… they knew not to congregate where they could all be felt.

"Who is it?" she heard Madrigal's voice through the speaker at the side of the door.

Eleanor shifted the sacks she was carrying and pushed the button to give her name. Moments later, the door opened a crack and Eleanor slipped through into the courtyard.

"We were worried," Madrigal explained as she relocked and bolted the door. "What took so long?"

"Ever try to get money from a bank when it's after hours?" Eleanor chuckled. "Let's just say I ran into a few problems."

"Of the immortal variety?" Madrigal asked; her brow wrinkled as she tried to figure out what had happened.

"No… well… not a problem. You know Thanos don't you? The petty crook down in the city center?"

"He's a money lender isn't he?" Madrigal replied with a nod. "I don't think I've ever met him. I don't know that I'd trust him."

"Oh he knows better than to mess with me. Of course I let him charge me some outrageous interest to get enough money to buy some food and other things. I'll take it to him tomorrow after the bank opens." She glanced at the darkened house. "Anyone still up?"

"Just me. I wanted to wait out here for you. The others are sleeping. Denara thought it best."

"Guess I could have saved some money then," Eleanor chuckled. "How are the children?" She passed through the door of the house and noticed Chou and Denis curled up on the floor. J.D. was on the couch. Eleanor paused to stare at her son. He was sprawled on the couch so like his father often did… all long arms and long legs spread out. She smiled and visualized the moment clearly in her mind. _Your son_, she sent to Methos. She heard him smirk through the bond.

_Never doubted it_.

She entered the kitchen and turned on a small light over the sink while she unpacked the food and put it away. "What did you end up doing for dinner?"

Madrigal settled morosely in a chair by the table. "Well truthfully, other than J.D. and Marianna… I don't know that anyone ate much of anything. Denara had some peanut butter and stale crackers in her pantry. Evidently Ursa really liked peanut butter."

Eleanor tossed her an apple. "Here. Be my guest."

Madrigal bit into the apple, holding it in both hands before her face while she inhaled its fruity aroma. She seemed worried.

"Thinking about Micah?" Eleanor asked her.

Madrigal nodded. "How long before we hear anything?"

Eleanor had finished with the food by this time and pulled out a chair at the table opposite Madrigal and had a seat. "Morning likely. I doubt that Adam and the others will make landfall until after dawn. We'll know then."

"Know?" Madrigal regarded the other immortal skeptically. "How?"

Eleanor shrugged with a mysterious smile. She pulled out a newly purchased phonecard. "I called him on the ship and gave him the number. That's really why I needed money. I don't like not being in touch."

"Have you tried to call the island? Phillip's place?"

Eleanor nodded. "Just got the automatic message but left the number so he can call me back." She leaned her head on one hand. "I bought one for each of us. Now that we're back in the world… we have to stay in touch." She pulled several more phonecards out of the sack. "We're on a family plan… sequential numbers." She pushed one toward Madrigal.

The girl picked it up and stared at its sleek surface thoughtfully. "You'll have to show me how to use this."

"I'll show everyone in the morning. Now get some sleep."

"Someone has to keep watch," the girl protested.

"Someone will keep watch," Eleanor assured her and then watched as the girl went wearily to bed. Then Eleanor rose and, after finding a blanket in a chest, she covered J.D. The boy whimpered in his sleep and seemed uneasy. She wondered what was bothering him as he rolled over and then drew up into a ball… much the way she slept.

She then checked the two bedrooms until she saw Marianna, the glowing crystal still in one hand. Eleanor picked it up and set it on the small table beside the bed. Then she ran her fingers through Marianna's dark hair. "Sleep my little one. No bad dreams tonight."

Marianna sighed in her sleep. Her hand flinched a few times and then she seemed to sink further into her dreams.

After that, Eleanor left the house and settled in a chair near the front door where she could still ascertain if any immortals came up or down the street. She wouldn't sleep… she couldn't tonight. But Methos wasn't sleeping either. She longed to explore a memory with him… but settled just to know he was making his way home to her and thinking of her and the children.

Gods but she loved him!

He laughed gently in her mind. _Good to know!_

-----

Using the body of Steven Keane, Nestor reached the port of Athens shortly before midnight. He hopped out of the boat, which he didn't even bother to tie off. He wouldn't need it. He noticed the Watcher's wheelchair still sitting at the door to the office. It was locked down and chained up. The watcher hadn't wanted to leave it… but he hadn't really wanted to take it with him either.

"Can you drive it from the depths of the sea?" Nestor laughed as he licked his teeth. His stomach rumbled. He needed to eat… but he also needed to keep a low profile and get out of this place. Phillip and his friends would be coming after him soon… unless the master's child kept them busy. But he needed to eat.

Nestor cricked Keane's head on his neck from one side to the other and then headed for the thoroughfare. He needed a taxi that would take him… where?

Airport. He fumbled in Keane's wallet and noted the large wad of Euros. He stared at the passing traffic while passwords for numbered accounts flashed through his mind. This immortal had all kinds of money and access to more. He ran nightclubs… he had contacts with mortal criminals… he might be worth keeping. On the other hand… Phillip and the others would know to be looking for him. Perhaps the best thing was to get out of Athens and then worry about transferring to another immortal… one they wouldn't suspect. He just needed to keep his appetites in check until he could do so.

A taxi slowed to the curb. "Airport and there's fifty in it for you if you get me there in less than an hour," he told the driver, who took off in a flash even before the rear passenger door was securely closed.

Nestor smirked. People were so easy to manipulate. He rubbed at his erection that had occurred as they passed scantily clad young women on the neon lit streets. It had been so very long since he'd really ed someone. The last time had been when he'd raped his bride that long ago night when they'd trapped him in the body of the maimed Nick Wolfe. For the first time in days… he thought of her… but did not press the contact. She would tell the others how to find him unless he was careful. He'd get her back… but first he had to make his escape. At thoughts of his bride… his erection was hard as rock. He hissed slightly and wondered if he could take the time for a quick stop. He could f--k one of those pale, bleached-blonde whores out there… and maybe even have time for a snack.

He licked his teeth at the prospect and leaned forward to ask the driver to pull over. After all… it didn't matter where his flight went… and there would always be another one.

-----

Dawn streaked in ugly red gashes across the eastern sky by the time Nestor was sated. He killed a partially drunken man seeking a prostitute and changed into his ill-fitting clothes. Keane's, by that time, were blood-soaked and Nestor had left a trail of corpses across the red light district… beginning with the taxi driver who'd wanted to drive on and earn his bonus. Well he'd slit his throat and left him slumped over the wheel of his taxi.

Then he'd grabbed one of the girls and flashed the wad of cash before her too-heavily made-up eyes. Oh she'd been willing enough… and he'd taken her every way he could… finally biting through her throat to prevent her screaming. Nevertheless, her pimp had come round to check on her and Nestor had killed him as well… and taken a few trophies to munch on. He had a real taste for it now and had waited on the edge of shadows to catch them alone. He'd lost track after he'd killed the fourth whore. The drunk he'd killed last by inserting a knife through one eye. After all… he didn't want blood on the clothes. Trouble was… he needed something dashing again if we were to fly out of the Athens airport.

Keane's bag was at an upscale hotel and the keycard was still in his possession… if it still worked. He fingered it thoughtfully. Nestor didn't really want to go there though… they might find him. He'd erred in letting his appetites take command of this body. He'd wait until the shops opened and the sale merchandise was set out on the sidewalks. He'd get something clean and suitable then… change… hire another taxi… and hit the airport.

With a grin… he settled into a deserted alley and watched the shop on the other side of the street. Maybe he could kill the clerk who opened up… just for the hell of it. He chuckled a bit and licked his teeth.

-----

**Niebos:**

Upon returning to the villa, Phillip closeted himself in his study. His computer damaged from the fight he and Methos had the other night, refused to boot up. The monitor was smashed, and the keyboard was ripped free and had been tossed against a bookcase. It rattled when he shook it. Something was broken. He didn't know if the files on the computer itself were all right… he hoped so. He found the box of back up disks and set them and the computer to one side.

Then he stared at the pieces of the artifacts. Some were still in one piece and others were still in the groupings they'd made. He found his digital camera card and began taking pictures of everything and making notes as he packed things back into the crates… carefully sorting and layering them so that they could try to reproduce the groupings. He gathered up the laptop as well as the books and paper files that Amanda had sent along and packed them in. Finally, he got out a tube of glue and sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to patch together the things he could. Some of them unfortunately were too damaged to do much with. He finally found some small plastic bags and began to stow the chips and tiny pieces in them.

He turned to stare at Reagan Cole as she opened the door to his study. "We've got Dawson lying down and Greg is taking a good look at those prosthetic limbs of his.

"Nick's old wheelchair is in the storage closet in the back of the house," Phillip murmured. "If the legs are ruined… he can get around in that."

Reagan nodded and looked about. "What is all of this?"

"Perhaps nothing but an old man's folly," Phillip explained sadly. "Or maybe it's a map to where we find the answers."

"A map?" Regan snorted. She leaned over and picked up a piece of pottery. "Doesn't look like much of a map to me."

"No. Not now. We were just starting to make some headway on it when things got strange. I attacked Eleanor and Adam attacked me."

"Are they alive?" Reagan asked.

Phillip nodded. Through the window he could see the first signs of the red dawn. "But too many people I cared about have died this night. Valeraine!" he said suddenly looking around. He'd forgotten her. He'd wanted to bury her… attend to her body.

"I got some sheets from a house in the village and wrapped her body up in them. It's out on the _portico_. I didn't know what you wanted to do with it."

"Thank you. I've lived with the fear that I would have to bury that child for twelve years. I wanted to find a way to save her."

"Maybe she didn't want to be saved," Reagan replied sadly. She hadn't known Valeraine… she'd only seen what had become of her when she'd helped Phillip bury her in the ocean. "She died twelve years ago, Phillip… that was something evil that we buried and you know it."

"And burying it there may have only contributed to destroying this island," Phillip said, his voice breaking with his emotion. "But after the last time… I didn't want to forget about Nestor and leave him to his own devices to find a way out. I wasn't vigilant enough. I've failed." His shoulders shook as he sobbed… the emotion of the past days all coming to a head.

In the hallway they head raised voices.

Reagan rose. "I'll take care of this. Your friends John and Greg seem to have some unsettled issues between them."

Phillip nodded dully and focused again on the tiny fragments in his hand.

-----

A few hours later, Kenny came running into the study. "They're back, Phillip. They're sailing into the harbor now." He turned to race out again.

By this time, Phillip had packed and secured almost everything and in the distance… the mountain still rumbled. The smoke billows were dark gray again… and he thought he detected the beginnings of a lava flow. "About damn time," he mumbled and rose to meet the returning ship. He'd have to tell Derrick about his three friends… and what had happened to them. He wasn't looking forward to that. Nor was he anxious to tell Methos about Katherine's death. The immortal had never had a chance since they'd saved her life twelve years ago. She'd spent those twelve years in a coma. Methos had been the one to offer her a place here on the island until she felt capable of facing the world after she'd awakened last fall. No… Katherine had had no chance. If there was anything Phillip knew in her memories… it was that she hoped at death she would be reunited with her beloved husband whose own death still seemed to have taken place so recently.

Already as he made his way down to the deserted dock, he could see Methos striding up the path towards him. Phillip waited… uncertain how his oldest friend would greet him. After all… Phillip hadn't exactly been at his best in recent days.

Methos slowed to a halt when he was some ten feet away from Phillip. Anger bristled over him and his countenance was dark indeed.

Phillip unbuckled his sword and dropped to his knees… holding it out. "I won't fight you."

"I really ought to take your head," Methos snapped as he strode forward and snatched Phillip's shortsword from his hands. Phillip nodded and leaned forward on his hands. "How dare you hurt my son!" Methos screamed and drew it back.

"You cannot hurt me more than I've hurt myself over that."

"Had anything happened to him… I would take your miserable head," Methos shouted and tossed the sword to the ground. "Now pick it up."

Phillip raised his head to meet Methos' gaze.

"Pick… it… up! We have a demon to fight if I'm right. And where is Nestor?"

Phillip reached out and grasped the hilt. Inwardly he felt relief and at the same time fear that his continued existence was an affront to those who suffered at Nestor's hands. Slowly he regained his feet. "He stole a boat and left."

Methos snarled and stomped a foot cursing in ancient Egyptian.

"How do you know about the other one?" Phillip asked.

Methos froze and then met Phillip's eyes. "The other one? Let me guess… something with red eyes?"

Phillip nodded. "Something not one of us. Something that told one of us that he wasn't an immortal… but that he was eternal. Sarah Manning was involved with it somehow. I think she died giving birth to it."

"Ahriman," breathed Methos not certain if he were more shocked by news of Sarah or that a monster had issued from her.

"Ahriman? Wasn't he that so-called Zoroastrian demon that MacLeod fought about twenty-five years ago?"

"The very same. Tyler Burke had visions of him… has had them for years… so did his dead wife."

"No wonder I figured the molten lava wouldn't hold him too long," Phillip said and turned to look up at the mouth of the volcano and its spectacular show. He figured geologists were safely in their offices half a world away enjoying the view via satellite.

"You managed to kill him?"

"Well… Kenny castrated him and he'd have died from blood loss, perhaps… but I figured we needed to destroy the body. I chanced the lava. Wrong guess I suppose." Phillip looked behind Methos. "Is that a fight going on? Is that Derrick squaring off with someone? Dammit Methos we can't afford quarrels now. We need every swordarm to stop this. And… we need to set sail to Athens… Nestor's gone there."

"Athens," Methos mumbled with a stark look of terror. "Eleanor," he whispered and turned away.

Below on the dock… Derrick and the Egyptian… surrounded by the others… circled one another as they began their fight… or at least take three of it.

-----


	67. Chapter Sixty Three

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

**Niebos:**

Once the ship was moored to the dock and the gangway lowered, Derrick cleared his mind as he exited the pilothouse. The Egyptian already waited on the dock for him. His opponent stretched, performing deep knee bends in an almost eager anticipation for this fight. The others shot glances at Derrick as they descended the gangway to slowly form a circle about his opponent. All but Methos… that is. He'd stormed through them and then along the village street. Derrick figured he was off to find Phillip.

Derrick rubbed the back of his neck. He was tired. He needed several hours of sleep to be at his best. His eyes burned a bit from straining them all night and sailing at full tilt. He hadn't wanted to risk any of the others piloting in case of an accident. No… he'd wanted to get them all here safely. He'd done that. Now they wanted him to fight.

"Ya've looked better," Amber said coming up behind him. She was the only one not yet on the dock. He turned to her and she held out a bottle of water. "Here… ya look like ya need to eat too. Eat and sleep and do anything but meet that man in combat."

With a smile, he nodded at her. "Fighting him is the last thing I want to do."

"Then don't do it. Any of the rest of us _want_ to kill him for what he did. Not just to us… mortals died on that plane… mortals who shouldn't have. He is not an innocent victim. He has to be stopped."

Derrick nodded. He'd been so focused on his friends that he'd forgotten the mortals who'd died in that hijacking attempt. Again he wondered if there had been anything he could have done to prevent any one of them from dying.

"Derrick it's not yar fault," Amber continued. 'Tis his… 'tis the Egyptian's fault. He's the reason those people are dead. Not you!"

Calmly he met her stormy glance, noticing how dark her pale gray eyes seemed when she was truly angry. Derrick raised a hand to caress her face and then stopped an inch away. Slowly he let the hand fall back to his side. He missed touching her. But she had to make the next move. This was one more reason to kill the man whose rape of her had come between them and destroyed their intimacy. He made a fist with that hand, clasping his fingers so tightly that his nails cut into his palm.

As if understanding that Derrick was thinking again of the rape, Amber blushed and turned away. Her shoulders shook from emotion. Then she straightened stiffly and marched down the gangway. Derrick wanted nothing more than to hold her… tell it was all right… but it would never be all right until the Egyptian was dead. And maybe… not even then. He gave into the anger he'd held at bay during their journey back here. He felt it rise within him.

"For you I'll kill him… because you wish it," he whispered to her retreating back. He rubbed his palm, satisfied that it had healed. In the background, the spumes of molten earth… red sparks against the gray smoke seemed to dance on the air itself. This corner of heaven on earth was slowly becoming its own hell. He thoughtfully pulled the scimitar from the small carpet where he'd placed it, and then unbuckled the Great Sword from his back to let it clatter to the deck. "I think scimitar on scimitar this time," he murmured wearily. Doubtless the Egyptian expected him to use the massive broadsword again. Perhaps it was time to surprise him. After all, he was trained on several types of weapons… Methos had insisted on it when Derrick had been younger. With a scowl on his face and his thoughts on the battle, he left the ship.

His circle of friends on the wide stone dock parted momentarily to let him enter the makeshift arena they'd created around the Egyptian, who only seemed amused at their actions.

"Would you break the rules?" the man was taunting them. "Then you are the oath-breakers and the villains of immortal life. Our law requires one-on-one combat!"

"You'll have your solitary combat… but _if_… and that is a very big if… you survive," Caspar uttered bitterly… then you face me."

"Or me," Alisaunne promised.

"Or me," Cassandra spit at him.

The refrain passed around the circle as each one promised the Egyptian that only Derrick's agreement to meet the challenge prevented their challenges from moving forward.

The Egyptian laughed and bowed. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it to one side. "My people should be along soon. Any attempt to interfere with my leaving here after I take his head will be met by rocket launchers." He laughed as they glanced around at the empty sky.

"You see… I have thought this through. I am in charge here… never forget this! When I am done… you will let me leave or all of you will die… permanently. Now come my young friend… my scimitar is thirsty. I would see this battle completed."

Derrick nodded as he gestured with Kabir's scimitar in his right hand. "As I recall… you were on your knees asking that I make it quick."

The Egyptian's eyes widened as he saw the scimitar; then he snarled and attacked with a slice and a powerful lunge. Derrick expected the move and avoided it, slicing at the Egyptian's unprotected back as he passed him. The Egyptian whirled, his scimitar rising to block Derrick's blow. They pushed off of one another and began to circle… their eyes focused on one another's movements.

As before, the Egyptian exuded the confidence of age and experience. He seemed to find the fight amusing but not serious. Derrick still failed to see a real aura of danger about him. Perhaps if they'd met under different circumstances… if he hadn't ordered the needless deaths of some forty mortals and raped Amber… they might have been friends. The thought of his opponent brutalizing Amber clouded Derrick's mind. His lip curled as he lunged forward, only for his attack to be blocked. His opponent was laughing again.

"You shouldn't be so transparent about your moves." As he pushed off of Derrick he shifted and swung his weapon down so it sliced into Derrick's left thigh even as he backed away. A collective groan went up from the others.

Derrick rubbed his left hand over the wound. It was shallower than it appeared. Most of the blood was bright red… no arteries had been hit. As if he knew just how slight the cut was… the Egyptian bowed with that insufferable grin of his across his face. Derrick glared at him, feeling the pent-up emotion of the past few days.

Feeling Methos' return without even seeing him reminded Derrick of those early lessons… of subterfuge and confusion in a fight… of the necessity of cheating in order to survive. He also felt Phillip's arrival and thought of the early martial arts training he'd had as a boy… how to give in, in order to gain an advantage. He wiped his left hand over his brow to brush away the locks of sweat-drenched hair. He saw Masahiro with his arms confidently folded as he stared at him. _Death before dishonor!_ Derrick couldn't help chuckling. His teachers' advice seemed contradictory. He swiveled the scimitar about in his right hand with a careless air. His leg was healed, but he limped to his right as he used both hands on the sword of living flame, suddenly noticing how the _faux_ flame seemed to reflect red light across his friends' faces. As the reflection passed over their eyes, their expressions slackened slightly. All the while his anger grew, and thoughts of what he'd do to the Egyptian filled his mind. As his anger grew, the anger on his friends' faces grew.

In sudden understanding of this sword's power, Derrick continued to circle, twirling the scimitar faster and faster, seeking to get that reflection of fire to pass before the Egyptian's eyes. When he finally managed it… he focused on keeping it there and at the same time filled his mind with thoughts of terror at that flame. The smirk of superiority gradually left the Egyptian's face. Instead, fear began to creep across it.

Derrick tossed the scimitar slightly into the air… smiling as the Egyptian followed its rise and descent. As it descended, Derrick grasped the hilt with his left hand… his stronger arm… and reversed the move so that the blade stopped suddenly. At the same time he whirled and lunged to slice with the power of both arms. He felt the blade meet and slice deeply into his opponent's midsection. Continuing the turn, he grasped the hilt with both hands and pulled sharply. Then he stepped away as he twirled the sword once more and brought it sharply down to his side. He stared at his opponent.

The Egyptian was only now aware of the wound. He slowly and with a bewildered look glanced at it and then moved one hand to touch it… as if to make certain it was real. At that moment, blood and organs burst through the wound. The Egyptian looked at Derrick in terror. He staggered and made move to attack… but already weakness took him. Slowly he fell to his knees.

Around Derrick a cheer went up from the onlookers. He watched the Egyptian waver on his knees and then fall to one side.

"Take his head! Kill him! End it! Get it over with!" The cries sounded from all of them as Derrick approached and stood over the dying man. For a moment he was a boy again… looking at a chessboard and realizing he had checkmate. He raised the scimitar overhead in both hands. It would be so easy… easier even than this fight. Death and killing were the easy way. In his mind he heard for the first time the sword whisper that it was right that this man die. He was the winner. He had stopped a man who had killed indiscriminately. _He'd raped Amber!_

_I am righteousness and this man has been judged and found wanting. Kill him now and take his power into you. Together we shall cleanse the pathways of the world and you shall rule with a righteous hand. On golden throne you will sit and all will kneel before you in terror._

Derrick gasped and staggered back. The voice was soft… seductive. It slid through his mind like something altogether evil and twisted. It laughed at his confusion. Was this what the others heard when they held the Great Sword? He lowered the scimitar and looked at it in sheer terror. With a strangled cry he tossed it away… watching it arc into the sky above everyone's head and begin to spin as it descended into the waters of the harbor. Then he turned and forced his way through the others. He had to get out of here! He had to clear his head. He didn't want to rule the earth… even if he would do so with a firm and righteous hand. He stumbled and felt someone follow and catch him.

He turned and wrapped his arms around Amber. "Save me," he said and buried his face in her shoulder as he wept. Surely she could banish the demon's voice that had emerged from the sword. "Save me," he whimpered as he desperately clutched at her. He slowly sank to his knees.

"I have ya," she said as she held him tightly. "I'll never let ya go. I love ya, Derrick Foster… with all my heart and soul. I'll never let ya go."

Behind them… an old and very powerful quickening erupted.

-----

**Athens:**

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee made Eleanor stir. Had she fallen asleep despite her best intentions? She recalled seeing the sun rise red in the east… and the thick smoke that tinged the horizon to the southwest. The sun seemed only marginally higher. Rubbing her hands over her face she shifted to see the tiny Denara holding out a cup.

"Likely you need sleep more than you need this." She grinned almost maternally as Eleanor clasped the cup gratefully with both hands. She deeply inhaled the aroma before drinking it down in one swift move. She sighed contentedly as the caffeine hit her system. Denara sat down beside her, her hands clasped in her lap.

"I didn't want Madrigal to tell you last night… but we small ones have invoked the old directive that when in the world… we move and act as one. We therefore will work together against any enemy." She looked up at Eleanor. "We are one."

Eleanor nodded. "That's right… you're eldest now."

"I have been for some time… but as it wasn't necessary… I let Phillip or other grown ones or even Micah take the lead. I am asserting my authority over the rest of the small ones now."

"Well… this is your home. That makes perfect sense."

"Even if we return to Niebos… I may keep that authority." She turned soberly to Eleanor. "We have to think of ourselves now. If any of us is to survive… we have to work together."

"Of course you do," Eleanor nodded. "You'll get no argument from me. What time is it?" She ran a hand through her tangled hair, using her spread fingers like a comb.

"It's still early, but you told Madrigal you needed to get the money from the bank and pay off Thanos. He's known to compound the interest hourly by the way." She winked with a small smile, and then stared wistfully at the sky. "Hopefully we will hear from Phillip and the others by mid-day."

"Is there any more of this?" Eleanor asked holding out the empty cup.

"Inside," Denara said as she stood up. "I made a whole pot for you."

Eleanor followed her into the empty kitchen, where she could smell bread baking in the oven. Her mouth watered as she tried to think when she'd last stopped to actually eat. Yesterday breakfast she thought. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that it was hard to believe it had only been that long. She drank another cup of coffee down, ignoring the grumbling of her stomach.

Denis wandered into the kitchen, dressed and still looking sleepy. "I'm up and I'm ready," he mumbled as he sat at the table and poured some juice.

"Ready for what?" Eleanor asked.

Denara turned to her. "Denis will accompany you this morning. No one should be out alone. He's the best of us and the fleetest runner if something goes wrong."

"Maybe he should remain here…" Eleanor began.

Denara shook her head. "No one should be alone. It's better you have someone with you. He's the best."

Denis' dark face lit up with an engaging smile. "I'm the best," he agreed.

Eleanor nodded with a knowing smile. "I give up. Denis… I would love for you to accompany me and be the lookout… but if anything happens," she warned him, "… run for it."

He nodded importantly and then eyed the oven. "Will that be out soon? I'm hungry."

"Store-bought for you two. I'll save some for you for later," Denara laughed as she indicated the round deli bread that Eleanor had purchased and the preserves. They sliced into it and ate hungrily, licking the jam from their fingers. Then even as the others began to stir and waken, they rose to leave. Eleanor hugged Marianna but noted that J.D. refused to even look at her. He remained sullen and angry. She sighed. She'd have to talk with him later… find out what had happened. But it would have to wait.

"Let's go Denis. The sooner we go… the sooner we can get back." With a wave, they were through the door and off down the narrow twisting street of this section of the city that sprawled about them in all directions. They could hear the blare of traffic and smell the fumes of civilization about them. When they happened to hit an open area on the hillside, they could see the smog drifting over the buildings spread out around them, while overhead, the growing clouds of smoke from the erupting volcano drifted with lazy menace. Eleanor gripped Denis' shoulder and squeezed. "Adam and the others have reached Niebos. They're pulling in to the harbor now."

Denis stared up at her curiously, wondering how it was she knew this… well… she and the doctor always did seem to understand one another even when apart. Maybe it was part of whatever it was that made them a couple. Denis sighed… knowing he'd never know anything like that. They walked on, and the vista of the city was lost as the surrounding homes and estates closed in on them again.

At the bank, Denis sat obediently in the wooden side-chair and swung his legs like a good little boy while Eleanor chatted lightly with the banker and signed some papers to get access to her money. In reality, he was looking around carefully. He'd felt no other immortals in the area, but he knew there were several in Athens… Phillip had mentioned them to Madrigal and Micah when they'd first left Niebos several years ago. While some were "live and let live"… there were a few who would challenge anyone they saw whom they regarded as inferior… or unworthy… especially the small ones.

"There are those who wouldn't understand about you lot," Phillip had told Madrigal and she'd told Denis last night. Denis had nodded. He understood all too well that there were those who killed small ones even if they weren't evil. It was the game. Eliminate the small and weak and grow stronger. Finally Eleanor rejoined him with a smile. "I think I have everything we need." She held out her hand. Taking it, Denis rose to accompany her.

As they moved along the streets of the inner city section of Athens… the only immortal he felt was Eleanor. She hurried him along and Denis followed her through the streets. He could smell sulfur by this time.

"That doesn't bode well," he told her with head gesture to indicate the skies and the general direction of Niebos.

Eleanor closed her eyes and then nodded. "The mountain is worse this morning," she said in a hollow voice. "Tempers are still running high." She flinched. "And the killing goes on." She shook her head and rubbed her arms. Her thin coat, which hid her sword, clearly not warm enough. Denis nodded. There was a chill in the air that reminded him that it was still winter… despite the mildness of the recent weather.

"Come on… I want to find Thanos and pay him off." Eleanor set off again and soon they were making their way through narrow, littered streets… streets where people glanced at them darkly and suspiciously and then turned away. Scantily dressed women and men wearing makeup lounged on street corners. One young man caught Denis' gaze and strutted a bit. "Reasonable prices," he said. Denis shuddered and looked away. He thought for the first time in ages of where Adam… the doctor… had found him… that brothel where he'd been chained and used by paying customers. No… he had no interest in being used that way ever again. He'd never told anyone about his early years… not even Chou with whom he'd always shared everything. There was something dirty and wrong about that time of his life. The doctor knew and understood. Denis felt heat in his face and was glad for his dark complexion. He didn't want Eleanor to know.

Feeling an immortal, Denis glanced about him and noticed that Eleanor had quickened her step.

"Thanos," she called out to a thin, shabbily dressed man. "There you are!"

Thanos eyed her with an unhappy glance at his watch. Evidently he'd hoped she wouldn't find him for a while. Eleanor grasped him by his shirt collar and pushed him against the brick wall of a building. She rammed a wad of cash into his front jeans pocket. "Here you go. All you deserve and a spot extra for being so gracious about it."

Thanos' eyes darted about wildly. Denis felt it too. There was someone else around. "We should go," the boy said to Eleanor who nodded. She clasped his hand and the two darted further down the alleyway. She stumbled after a block or two. "Nestor," she whispered, her eyes wild.

"How?" Denis wanted to know.

Eleanor shook her head. "Later… we have to go."

Several blocks behind them, Thanos pulled out the money and counted it while hurrying off in another direction.

-----

Having slaughtered the store clerk and left his body bleeding all over the sale-priced merchandise table, Nestor changed clothes once again, combed his hair and wiped the blood splatters from Keane's face. He grinned into the overhead security mirror and then let himself out of the rear delivery door. He really did have to stop playing around and get out of town. Already he could hear police sirens in the area. Evidently either the taxi driver or some of last night's victims had been found.

He moved along the street easily, managing to resist the temptation to go back and gawk. He loved watching these modern day law enforcement officers kneel in the streets and vomit at the sight of his work. Clearly they had no idea how barbaric things had been once upon a time. They were just all so civilized these days. He could kill with abandon… and terrorize a modern city… bringing it to a standstill… and they couldn't stop him.

At the feel of immortals in the area, he slowed to a stop and changed direction. He then eased closer to where he sensed them, all the time hugging the shadows. It was good to know who was about. Besides, he'd love to drink in another quickening… especially if it were one of his enemies.

He saw the three of them even before he felt them… and moved back out of range. The woman interested him. He vaguely recalled her being there the night he'd taken his bride. He grinned with a feral snarl as he thought of all the lovely things he could do to her before killing her. Traffic lumbered between them and where he was. When it was gone… so was she and the boy she had with her.

The other one, however, was headed in his direction. Nestor fingered Keane's sword as he moved further back into the shadows. He really needed to get to the airport and get out of town. On the other hand… this one would be so very easy to kill.

-----

Denara switched on the small radio she kept and dialed about to find a station that played classical music. Finally finding one, she stood at the sink, her hands in the soapy water and washed the breakfast dishes. She was oddly content. Everything here was sized for her and she didn't feel like a child any longer. There were people depending on her and the choices she would make in the next few days.

While she didn't know precisely how old she was… she did know that she was older than everyone in this house.

"Want to play?" Marianna asked from behind her.

"I can't right now," Denara said. "I have work to do."

"Want some help?"

Denara sighed and then tossed a towel to Marianna. "Can you dry dishes?"

The little girl brightened and carefully set her crystal down. "Momma lets me dry dishes some times." Eagerly she picked up a plate and ran the towel over it.

On the radio, a voice broke in with a news bulletin. But it wasn't about the eruption on Niebos… it was about a rash of murders that had occurred last night in one the city's districts. Denara stared thoughtfully at the radio. A cold chill ran down her spine. "Nestor," she whispered and the sound of his name echoed about her in the morning air. Even her warm, sun-drenched kitchen no longer felt safe.

-----


	68. Chapter Sixty Four

**Chapter Sixty-Four**

**Niebos:**

As Derrick pushed through the circle to escape, those present waited only a moment before drawing swords and moving forward… each of them determined to kill the Egyptian. Cassandra, however, reached him first and delivered the killing blow to his already unconscious body. She seethed with anger as she did so… aware that all the others were thrown back or moved back as the Quickening rose from the body in a small explosion. Then it drew into an accusing finger and began to jab at her… forcing itself into her in much the same way he had raped her… coldly, harshly, and without passion.

Cassandra dropped her broadsword and lifted her hands to her head. She began to scream as the Quickening raped her body in multiple thrusts again and again. Never had one made her feel so hopeless… so vulnerable. She struggled to recall who she was in the face of the torrent of mental images and memories.

_I am Cassandra… _

_You are nothing! I am Sarif… known as the Egyptian. Ever have I walked the earth… older than all I meet._

_You're wrong. I'm older!_

For a moment the thrusts at her ceased and then the efforts redoubled so that she spun around helplessly. Her eyes widened as they fell on Methos watching her with pity.

_I am Cassandra! I was with the horsemen for a many years._

Laughter. _They were a legend… a myth to frighten children._

_They were real!_

Cassandra's mind sought to recall her rape and treatment at their hands. But it faded to nothing in the face of the fresher memories of the Egyptian forcing himself on her. He'd done so not because he'd wanted her… not even to appear in control in front of his men… but to be able to tell Derrick that he'd raped her. Then, because she'd screamed and fought him… he'd given her to his men to show her that she had no power… that she was nothing… she was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. She wasn't even worth his taking her head.

She screamed louder and fell to her knees, clutching at her stomach. The Quickening continued to pound her… she felt like she was being gang raped once more as it throbbed and darted into her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her ears, her heart, and between her legs. Voices… multiple ones now… likely the voices of those he'd killed in his long life… joined his and even more memories assaulted her.

_I am Cassandra._

But her protest seemed little more than a whisper in the face of these voices. Her mind wandered as she had wandered… a silent and sometimes hated prophetess of dire events. She wandered the battlefields of the dead and sought to put them on the correct path. But so many of them left her behind and turned onto their own path… hearing someone else's call.

Cassandra sobbed and bent over. Still the Quickening assaulted her. Some of it caressed her in ways and places like a cherished lover now.

_I can be gentle_, the Egyptian said. _Turn to me and embrace me. Together we will make them pay._

She moaned and wanted to move with his touch. Her hands rose to her breasts. She squeezed them tightly as she moved her hips, wishing that the power thrusting into her were more solid.

Then she heard Methos' voice shouting as from a far distance. "Fight it Cassandra. You must rule it… and not let it rule you."

_I am Cassandra_, she whimpered as she slid to one side and trembled on the dock. The stone was hot beneath her face.

_You are mine._

_I am Cassandra. I say whom. I say where. I say when. _She sobbed in a tortured breath.Who was she? Why should she even care? _I am Cassandra, _she whispered to the sudden silence. And then she felt hands on her and was lifted into strong arms. She lolled her head against Methos' chest and drank in the smell of him that she had once lived for. "I am Cassandra," she whispered.

"Yes you are," he replied.

"Then why didn't you love me?"

Methos jostled her slightly as he carried her. Finally he whispered into her ear. "To have loved you then would have been to lose my life. To have loved you then would have meant I wouldn't survive… Kronos would have killed me. By the time you came to understand that… you had left… and I had moved on."

She sighed in understanding and let the shadows of unconsciousness close in on her troubled mind. Maybe it was a good thing she had never managed to kill any of the four of them. She would have lost the battle even if she'd killed them.

-----

Phillip watched Methos cradle Cassandra in his arms as he headed up the path to the villa and then he turned back to watch some of this group kick the body of this man and mutilate it in anger. Whatever he'd done must have been horrible.

Phillip pushed past them, aware that the _samurai_, Masahiro had also turned from the group and that the two of them approached the sobbing Derrick and the crooning Amber who held him against her. Both were on the ground. Phillip crouched at Derrick's side.

"'Tis a hard thing to kill a man… even if he deserves it."

Amber glared at Phillip and then leaned down toward Derrick, pushing his hair from his eyes and whispering to him softly. "Ya did the right thing, Derrick. Ya defeated him once again. Ya didn't have to kill him for me. I told ya the rest of us could manage it."

Phillip sighed and rose as the ground rumbled again. He had to do something about that… but what? How did he face the unfaceable and kill the unkillable? How did he fulfill his oath to Danäe? How could he fight this thing that had come to destroy them all? He looked down as Derrick clutched at his ankle.

"Yes?" Phillip said. He crouched again. "What do you wish to tell me?"

Derrick clasped his hand. "We are stronger together than alone," his voice said in a hollow tone. "Only as one can we face and defeat evil."

"Aye… Darius often said as much," Phillip mumbled with a nod. "But the rules…"

Derrick lifted his head… his blue eyes glittered. "The rules don't apply here. Not unless we allow them to."

"You've heard the sword then," Phillip whispered.

"The scimitar only. But I understand what all of you have heard. It promises us that which we want. It grows stronger while we ignore it. Evil exists as long as we refuse to face it. It burrows into our souls and eats away at our resolve unless we face it and banish it."

Again Phillip nodded. He didn't know how much Methos had told the lad about what had been happening here… but it all fit. "Aye… I hoped he'd never be free."

Derrick's hand dropped and he nestled closer to Amber. "Love is the answer."

"Love?" Phillip nearly laughed. How could love succeed against evil?

He was aware that Derrick's friends were throwing pieces of the Egyptian into the harbor. Evidently their bloodlust was at long last sated.

"Their anger was mine. I wanted to rip him limb from limb with my bare hands," Derrick said. "I used the scimitar to fill them with my rage. Had I taken his head with that scimitar… I would have been lost."

"Shhh… ma boyo… 'tis all right now," Amber whispered.

Derrick smiled. "Love… unconditional love can be stronger than the force of evil."

"But MacLeod faced the demon with an empty hand. He beat him back…" Phillip began.

"But only for a time. If we are to stop him this time… back long before he should have been… it will take all of us." He turned and glanced up at Masahiro. "Take them all up to the house to clean up."

"_Hai_… but what shall you do?" the _samurai_ asked.

"I have to retrieve that sword." He glanced at Phillip. "Are there sharks in the area?"

Phillip nodded. "They'll be in feeding frenzy."

Derrick sighed. "The sword protects itself. It wants to be forgotten and wait for a better chance… for someone who will listen to it. I can't leave it down there. I can't leave it for someone else to handle. It's my burden." He sat up and pulled away from Amber.

She let out a sob.

He turned back to her and caressed her face. "If we are honest with one another… if we refuse to let others pull us apart… nothing can hurt us. You have to believe that." He leaned closer and kissed her… she responded… and for a long moment they appeared focused only on one another. Almost reluctantly their kips parted. "Soon," Derrick whispered in promise. "Soon nothing will ever part us again." Both of them nodded. He kissed her again almost playfully and then pulled back. They both laughed.

Phillip smiled. These two were finding the truth about immortals on their own. They were coming to it without magic… unless something of Darius was pushing at both of them… pushing for what he'd denied himself during much of his long life.

"I can find some rope. I think it best if I can pull you back up if there's a problem. There will be scuba equipment around as well," Phillip said clasping Derrick's shoulder. "Although I don't think you'll need it."

Derrick shook his head. "No… it will try to hide from me… but I think I will hear it." His eyes were focused on Amber's and hers on him. His thumb caressed her face in his hands, lightly running over her lips. "But being tied to a rope makes sense."

"Then I'll find some," Phillip said with a nod and rose. Masahiro was, by this time leading the stunned and silent others up to the villa. The three of them were soon alone in the otherwise deserted village.

-----

**Athens:**

Nestor followed the male immortal at a safe distance through several of the twisted, narrow streets. He attacked swiftly from the shadows in one particularly dirty alley. The male turned to look at him dully and with momentary surprise as Keane's sword smoothly removed his head. The Quickening, while small and not at all spectacular, had nevertheless filled him with satisfaction. Just as killing and raping mortals had satisfied him last night… so too the taking of an immortal's head soothed his mind.

He overwhelmed the memories of Thanos and pushed them down to the depths of his psyche… even below those of the various host identities. After all… he didn't need anything Thanos knew.

Nestor straightened Keane's coat and ran his fingers through his host's hair to smooth it. Once more his sword was hidden. Sparks still fell from a nearby transformer that had exploded. Keane leaned over and snatched up the fallen money. It was in Euros and Euros were good everywhere. He stuffed the money into his pocket and then walked confidently out of the alleyway and up the street until he came to automobile traffic again. He flagged a taxi. "Let's try this again," he said to himself. "Airport," he ordered and sat back… finally satisfied for the moment.

He slipped a hand into his coat pocket, fingering his snacks and then removed it without pulling one out. The driver was glancing at him in his rear view mirror. Nestor needed self-control. The thing was… control was no fun… no fun at all. He ignored the driver's running commentary as he fantasized about slicing him up and eating him… only the best parts of course. His stomach rumbled.

-----

When their plane landed in Athens at mid-morning. Duncan, Amanda, and Sun slowly made their way through customs. Amanda carried Ian, jostling him and shifting him in her arms when he became restless. He needed feeding as she'd changed him shortly before they'd landed. He needed Duncan… but this was not the time for that.

Amanda felt oddly naked in the airport. She supposed it was because their weapons were still hidden in the checked baggage. She was far more accustomed to being unencumbered when in a crowd. She liked to have her hands free and be to be able to fight if need be. With Ian in her arms, she felt like she had to pretend to be something she wasn't certain she could be… a mother. And yet… Amanda rocked him in her arms as she tried to calm him and felt very protective of him. His feeble cries, however, were garnering her more attention than she felt wise.

Duncan leaned over to say something to one of the customs officials. A few moments later, the three immortals were waved to another line so that they could be processed through.

"Thank you," Duncan was saying. "He's hungry and we need to feed him."

Their swords managed to pass through the inspection unfound in the secure false bottom of the steamer trunk they'd bought in Burma. Old, dented, and covered with stickers, it had seen better days. However… it was precisely what they'd needed to get their swords through the manual search and the x-ray scan.

As soon as they finished with customs, Duncan led them to a small seating area. He took Ian in his arms and sat back, the little finger of his left hand clutched by Ian's tiny fists. He relaxed and shut his eyes. Amanda sat next to Duncan, a bottle of formula in her hands as she leaned close to them both, hoping they looked like a small family. Sun, meanwhile, paced about, keeping an eye on the passersby. He used his staff like a cane as he walked, limping slightly. No one seemed to give the immortals a second glance.

Amanda gasped slightly and sat back, her eyes darting around the lounge. She felt another immortal. "Someone's coming," she whispered to Duncan. He looked a bit pale as he removed his finger from Ian's grasp. He handed him to her and stood up.

Amanda didn't like this one bit. She was likely better prepared to fight someone at this moment than Duncan was. But no… ever the Boy Scout… ever the protector… he stood up confidently and moved to Sun's side. "Found him yet?"

"Not yet," Sun replied quietly as he continued to scan the crowd. "At least with this many witnesses… and airport security… we're likely safe. No one in his right mind would issue a challenge here."

They saw him then… the one person standing completely still as the crowd moved around him. Both men sighed in relief. Duncan raised a hand to wave at Steven Keane who pressed the heel of his hand against the side of his head slightly and then came closer.

"MacLeod," he said and then looked behind him toward the approaching Amanda. He stared at the baby in her arms and licked his lips.

"Where's Reagan?" Duncan asked as he looked around.

Keane looked up at him suddenly. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Oh… Reagan. She went to Niebos," he said flatly. Then he grinned. "With some friend of yours…" He closed his eyes as if reaching for a name. "Dawson… Joe Dawson," he finally crowed.

"Joe's here?" Amanda asked stepping closer to him.

Keane shrugged. "I said so didn't I?" He smiled hungrily and stared at the infant. He flinched and rubbed the side of his head with the heel of his hand. He sucked in air and then released it. Amanda's nose wrinkled and she stepped back. Something smelled oddly fetid and rotten.

Keane looked around, his hand clutched at the side of his coat. "I can't get through security here… can I?"

"Are you all right Keane?" Sun asked stepping closer to him. He reached out to touch his arm.

Keane shrugged free of the friendly gesture and backed away. "I can't get a flight." His voice echoed in the terminal. He turned and raced toward the entrance.

"What the hell?" Duncan said. He glanced at Amanda and sun and then took off after Keane. Amanda hurriedly put Ian into Sun's arms and raced after both immortals.

She caught up with Duncan as he passed through the entrance. They saw Keane pull a man from a car and take off.

"He was acting peculiar," Duncan mused.

"Did you smell his breath?" Amanda added. "It smelled rotten."

Duncan shook his head. "That doesn't make sense." Then he met Amanda's gaze. "An eruption in a dead volcano…"

"Nestor," they said at the same time. Looking up, they noticed that with a few near misses, the car had veered into traffic and was speeding off.

Duncan growled and made fists. "Let's get the weapons. We need to get in touch with those on the island." He turned and headed back into the terminal. Amanda watched the car vanishing from sight. If that was Nestor… things were far worse than they supposed. A chill ran down her back and she shuddered. He knew about Joe. Did that mean he'd killed Reagan and Joe? What was Joe doing on Niebos? Turning, she worriedly followed Duncan back into the terminal.

Coming up behind him, she looked about in confusion. Their trunk with the weapons was where they'd left it… but there was no sign of Sun and the baby.

"Now where did he go?" Amanda asked.

"Stay with the trunk… we can't have it confiscated," Duncan ordered as he raced off.

Amanda stomped one foot. _Dammit!_ Inwardly seething, she took a seat next to the trunk, crossed her arms and legs, and glared at the passengers moving around the terminal.

-----

Duncan found Sun seated in another lounge, the baby still in his arms. He stared into the face of Ian Connor MacLeod with a sense of wonder.

Duncan stood over the Oriental and then leaned down to collect the baby. "Why did you move?"

Sun looked up at him. "In truth… I thought to leave with the child. But he is not just a pre-immortal… one of us… he is something else entirely. I knew it when I touched him."

Duncan looked down into the baby's wide blue eyes and smiled. "Aye… he's special all right."

"And for his own safety he must remain with you," Sun added. He stood, bowed courteously, and then gestured for them to return to Amanda.

Duncan swallowed a retort about Sun being close to losing his head. Maybe he had learned something in his time of holding Ian… something that had altered whatever plans were going through his mind. Besides… if Nestor currently resided in Steven Keane… he would need Sun's help in catching and containing the monster. As he passed a television on the wall, Duncan noted the increased smoke and shooting lava from the top of Mt. Niebos. Evidently things were worse there. They needed to find the others and get to the island as soon as possible.

-----

Nestor hunched over the steering wheel as he careened through traffic. "Slow down!" he shouted to himself. True, he needed to put distance between himself and MacLeod, but this kind of driving would call attention to him even faster. He didn't need the local law enforcement after him as well for something so minor as a traffic ticket. Slowly he eased up on the gas, settling back into traffic.

He could hear sirens blaring as official cars passed him. Thankfully this vehicle was identical to so many others on the road that they'd not had a good look at him. He would need to trade off soon though. After all, a good roadblock or someone checking the plates would be all he'd need for them to find him.

Again the headache started. It had to be the vestiges of this body's latent personality fighting him. They all did at first when he took over… but this one was being particularly demanding. Evidently the things he was doing upset the other one. Again he rubbed and pressed at the side of his head. He felt positively ill.

Seeing an exit ramp ahead, Nestor pulled off the road and into a service station. He parked around back near the public facilities. He wiped Keane's prints from the steering wheel and from the door handles as he climbed out and locked the car. Then he threw the keys into the shrubbery.

Staggering slightly and rubbing his stomach, he pushed into the men's room and closed and locked the door before leaning over the sink, staring into the fluorescent-lit mirror to regard Keane's pale and greenish complexion. His eyes were already taking on a wild and red-rimmed edge. He didn't look well at all.

He lowered his head toward the sink and vomited. Clearly this body did not like his recent meals. He stared at the puke and partially digested body pieces and then wiped Keane's mouth with a wet paper towel. Perhaps he had overdone it a bit last night. Now he needed to quietly get another car… get out of Greece… and after getting his hands on more of Keane's fortune… he could change identities once more.

Tossing the paper towel into the trash, Nestor straightened Keane's coat and smoothed his hair. Then he turned and unlocked the door to step out into the cloudy day. He felt much better. However, he now needed to steal another car.

-----


	69. Chapter Sixty Five

**Chapter Sixty-Five**

**Niebos:**

After putting Cassandra into Sarah Manning's bed and covering her up, Methos sat silently beside her. He'd always felt some responsibility for Cassandra… but he'd stopped allowing himself to feel regret for his part in the way she'd turned out. Cassandra had a power that often reminded him of Aja. At the same time… she often seemed twisted by her hate.

She opened her green eyes and focused on him. She shifted against the pillows. "He was older than I thought."

Methos nodded. "You have to be careful when you take in the Quickening of an ancient."

"Guess if I'd killed you years ago I would have been totally lost," she chuckled wearily and rubbed her head.

"Considering that he was a few thousand years younger than me… yes. You would have become the thing you hate."

"Guess that's how dark quickenings start," she sighed. Methos said nothing. Cassandra glanced up at him, peering curiously into his eyes. "What?"

Methos sighed. "I don't have all the facts. You'll have to ask Phillip… but Sarah's dead."

Cassandra's face reflected shock and then she sank back onto the pillows with her eyes closed. In a broken voice she whispered softly, "She was so young. She had barely begun to live."

"And you feel responsible."

Cassandra's eyes snapped open. "I wanted to help her move beyond her infatuation with you. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do at the time… but she always felt safe with me… even when she was still learning what it meant to be immortal."

Methos made no reply. He didn't think Cassandra and he would ever see eye to eye on these things. He felt the flitting touch of Eleanor as she and Denis returned safely to Denara's house. _Call you soon_, she whispered and was gone… allowing him the time and privacy to deal with Cassandra. He sighed and stared at his hands… clasping and unclasping them.

"Sarah was a troubled young woman. We likely both contributed to her feelings of self-loathing. She was badly treated by Kingsley and by others during the last century. Nestor must have found her particularly pliant for his plans."

"Did he take her head?"

Methos shook his head. "I don't know. I only know she's dead." Until he knew more, he didn't want to mention his suspicions about Sarah and Nestor. He needed to closet himself with Phillip and get the whole story. "Rest now. We might have to evacuate shortly."

He rose and smiled encouragingly at her, and then turned and left, shutting the bedroom door behind him and leaning on it. He reached for Eleanor in his mind. Instead, his phonecard _chirped_.

"Hey," she said when he answered. "Just got back to Denara's. How's Phillip?"

"He was still in the village with Derrick when I came to the villa."

"Thank you," she said simply.

"For watching Derrick? He's a more than capable fighter for one so young."

"I know you planned to interfere if the Egyptian got the upper hand."

"Just don't tell anyone. I have to maintain my 'survive at all costs' attitude… otherwise people will be asking me to interfere all the time."

She laughed. "Your secret's still safe."

"How's Grace?"

"Well she's still concerned about Greg and John. I'm not certain which one she's more concerned about."

"They're both fine I assume. I haven't actually seen them," Methos replied.

"I told her. Maybe when you do see them you can get one of them to call her on her phonecard. I gave you the number."

"Just stay off the streets until we get there… Nestor…"

"Is on the loose. Believe me… the local authorities are warning everyone to stay in. Of course they think it's some serial killer who is still in the inner city. I figure he's moved on. At any rate, we're in for the day. Denara's listening to the news reports on the radio. He killed seven overnight from what I gather. At least that's the toll so far."

"We'll be there shortly."

She told him she loved him and he broke the connection… a smile playing over his lips. They didn't need something so artificial between them… but it was good to actually hear her voice… not just sense it within him. He pushed the phonecard into his pocket and descended the steps. Most of the group from the dock had arrived at the villa. He noticed their blood-splattered hands and faces and paled.

Masahiro alone of Derrick's group seemed free of blood. He stared at Methos hollowly as if he'd seen something that had shaken him to his core. Methos nodded. Seeing John and Greg enter, evidently carrying some equipment and notebooks from Grace's lab at the hospital, Methos suggested they help the others clean up and then turned to leave. He needed to talk to Phillip.

He paused when Alisaunne's bloody hand touched his arm. "It was thrilling. We destroyed him utterly. You should have been there." There was a flat quality to her voice.

"Already been there… done that," he replied drolly. "It gets old very quickly."

"I don't feel Nestor here. Not like I did before," she said. "I feel liberated."

Methos stepped closer to her and wiped some blood from her face with his thumb and then regarded it. "You might feel liberated… but you and the others are acting like he does." He saw Cochrane staring at him in fury. He backed away. "Take care of your lover. He's losing it." He pivoted and left them all.

In the village he found Derrick sitting on the edge of the dock while Phillip was tying a rope about his waist. Amber… no blood on her… stood staring down at them. Methos sensed her fears and concerns.

"What's happened?"

"I have to get the scimitar back," Derrick replied. "I can't leave it out there calling to one of us."

Methos nodded in agreement. That made sense.

"He heard it speak," Amber burst out. "That's why he didn't kill him."

"Likely a wise precaution. The Egyptian was old enough that his power would have overwhelmed most of you. It was a good thing Cassandra was the one who killed him… but even she's suffering for it." He crouched next to Phillip. "I need to know about Nestor."

Phillip paused and then continued tying off the rope. "An immortal named Keane killed Valeraine. He almost killed Dawson."

"Joe Dawson? Bloody hell! What's he doing here?" Methos rose furiously to his feet.

"Recuperating and asleep after taking the last drink in the harbor. We were lucky to get him out." Phillip gestured for Methos to calm down.

_Joe!_ Eleanor screamed in his mind. Methos glanced at the mountain. For a moment her fear for Joe nearly took control. She wanted to race up the slope and get him off the island.

_Safer here… now_, Methos managed. _Nestor… Athens!_ he reminded her. Her insistence waned. Methos crouched once more. "All right… Derrick gets the scimitar back and then what?"

"We face Ahriman's creature on the mountain," Phillip said. He patted Derrick's shoulder. The young immortal pulled down goggles and slipped off the dock into the dark waters. Phillip played out the rope after him.

"Don't we need MacLeod for that?" Methos smirked.

Phillip shrugged. "Sure… see him lurking around anywhere?"

Methos said nothing. He hadn't believed in Ahriman's existence when MacLeod had mentioned him twenty-five years ago. Why was it he'd never heard anyone speak of him in five thousand years? "All those who met him were dead or crazy… MacLeod was the first to ask for help," he finally mumbled to himself as he recalled that dark time. He'd happened to be in Paris when MacLeod spoke of Ahriman. But then… what? After MacLeod, tricked by Ahriman, killed his student Richie Ryan, MacLeod had begged for death and Methos had refused, turning away from MacLeod. Methos had left shortly afterwards to go into hiding… hopefully free of Watcher eyes. He'd wanted his seclusion and invisibility back. He still did.

Derrick popped back to the surface, drew in a lungful of air and dived beneath the waters again. Amber dropped to her knees at the dock's edge, a look of worry on her face. "What if it controls him again?"

Phillip shook his head as he played out the rope. "He knows what it is now… he may be able to fight it or tune it out."

"How did Keane get here?" Methos asked.

"You'd have to ask Reagan Cole. She was up at the villa earlier."

Methos rubbed his face with both hands. "I didn't see her. I was focused on making certain Cassandra would be all right. Then I came down here again. You realize Derrick's friends tore that body apart?" He glanced at both Amber and Phillip.

Amber paled. "Derrick said it was his rage… that he'd transferred it to all of them when he used the scimitar. But I didn't feel anything."

"Nor I… nor did Masahiro," Phillip commented. The rope was lax in his hands. Derrick surfaced again, breathed and dove straight down.

"Well Alisaunne said it felt liberating," Methos retorted and then sighed as he shook his head. He wondered what sort of repercussions would happen now.

-----

Sitting up in Greg Powers' bed, Joe Dawson listened to the sound of multiple voices. Maybe they'd all come back. He grinned. Maybe Ellie was here. He didn't want her to see him like this. He sat up, threw back the covers and swung his stumps to the side. An old wheelchair sat quietly near the bedside. He reached and pulled it over, secured it and then hefted himself into it. He didn't see his prosthetic legs anywhere. Powers had said something about cleaning and testing them before Joe used them again. Joe grabbed a lightweight blanket from a chair and positioned it over his lap and stumps. Then he wheeled to the door and opened it.

The first person he saw was a bloody David Keogh. The immortal turned and grinned widely. "We ripped him to shreds!" he crowed enthusiastically before racing down the hallway. "Michelle! Wait for me!" Joe watched him go. "Who?" he yelled after him.

"Only the Egyptian."

Joe turned back at hearing the voice, and saw a pale-faced Cassandra in the doorway of another bedroom. "Who?" Joe asked again.

Cassandra shook her head. "In the big scheme of things… likely no one important… but he was an evil man who murdered and raped for pleasure. Even now," she rubbed her head, "he bids me take up my sword and kill them all for desecrating his corpse."

A chill went through Joe. "Was it dark?"

Cassandra shook her head. "No… just very old and very powerful. I'll be fine." She chuckled as both of them could hear water running in the various bathrooms. "I'd hazard a guess and say that showering is not all that's going on." She retreated into the bedroom and shut the door.

Joe wheeled out into the hallway and looked through the openings of the railing to the floor below. "No elevator I'll warrant." Powers and Kage had carried him up the steps when they'd arrived last night. Joe wondered where everyone was. He could hear voices downstairs arguing… Powers, Kage, and Reagan's. It sounded like she was telling both of them to calm down and grow up. That there were more important issues going on here. Joe sat back in the chair. He wanted to get dressed but he wasn't even certain where his wet clothing had been taken. His bag was likely still on the motor launch… wherever it was.

He began to hear a persistent _chirp_ from his room. The phonecard… must be Amy again checking to be certain he was feeling all right. Joe wheeled back into the bedroom and picked the slim rectangle up from his bedside table. "Dawson," he barked into it.

"Joe? Thank the gods!" It was Ellie.

"So you did have a phone, Ellie girl."

"Bought one last night. Figured it would be safer since we were all spread out. What are you doing on Niebos?"

"You invited me once."

"That was years ago."

"Thought it was a standing… no pun intended… invitation."

"It was… is. But you couldn't have picked a worse time."

Joe chuckled. "That's me… always in the thick of it."

"You could have been killed!" she insisted.

"Nearly was. Of all the ways I'd ever thought I could die, drowning wasn't one I ever considered. I was always a really good swimmer… remember?"

She was silent a moment. "I remember."

"Yeah… figured you would." Joe took a deep breath and then told her all that had happened since he'd first arrived in Athens. "And now Nestor's loose in the form of Steven Keane. Ever meet him?"

"No… I wouldn't know what he looked like."

"I told Amy last night. I think she was going to put out a Watcher APB to the effect. I'll find out if she did. Is Jayne with you? Maybe she could go to the headquarters in Athens and…"

"I don't want Jayne out alone until we figure out where he is. Maybe she can call them though. It would help to see his picture."

"He'll likely get himself killed by another immortal as soon as he can."

"On the other hand… he might not realize we know what face he's wearing now," she replied. "Listen… I've got to go. Stay safe Joseph Dawson."

"Bye Ellie girl," Joe replied wistfully as he reluctantly broke the connection. He stared at the card and then glanced up as Reagan knocked on the open door, his folded clothes in her arms.

"Fresh from the laundry. Did them myself. All clean and dry."

"What about my legs?"

"Powers is still working on them."

"Sounded like he and Kage were arguing."

Reagan nodded as she handed him his clothes. "It seems they both love the same woman… Grace Chandel."

Joe nodded. Grace was a part of MacLeod's chronicle. Hell! Grace had helped doctor him once in Paris. He'd been in bad shape, but he could recall her leaning over him. He could recall her soft voice and gentle touch. "I don't blame them," he murmured.

"Anyway, Derrick's bunch arrived this morning… they're getting cleaned up."

"Derrick okay?" Joe asked with the worry in his voice evident.

"He's fine. He's still down in the village with Phillip and Pierson."

"Yes… he would be," Joe nodded. Those three likely had plans to lay. In the distance, he heard the sounds of the eruption. He looked up and noticed that Reagan was staring out the window that faced the mountain. She moved to open the blinds. "We gotta get off this island," Joe said quietly.

"Yes," Reagan replied. She dropped the cord, pivoted and headed out the door. "I'll be back. I have to see to something." She pulled the door closed.

Joe sighed, wondering what she wasn't telling him, and then began to clean up and dress.

-----

The loss of Steven Keane had been a hard blow for Reagan Cole to accept last night. Inwardly she still wanted to believe that he would be fine… that he was stronger and more capable of withstanding the horror of Nestor that she'd witnessed inside the body of a child. But she understood on some level… that Keane was likely lost. She wanted to get on that ship and head to Athens. She was a bounty hunter and she was good at her job. She had connections. She could call in favors… she knew Steven and she could track him. Now that the ship was here… surely they would set sail soon.

As she left the villa to find Phillip, she glanced behind her at the increasingly darker smoke. This island was set to blow… and when it did. She shuddered. Phillip had to be aware of that. He was the one who'd ordered them to spend the hours before dawn and early this morning packing things up to take with them. Faster and faster she raced down the path to the village. She needed to know what the hold-up was. She also wanted to be someplace other than a houseful of immortals fresh from tearing one of their own to pieces.

She found him on the dock with Pierson whom she'd vaguely met when he brought Cassandra to the house and another immortal who must have come with the ship. Reagan slowed her pace as she approached them. All three turned to glance back at her and then turned to face the ocean again.

"We need to go," she said after clearing her voice.

"We need to stop _him_ first," Phillip said. He pointed with a shout as another immortal… possibly Derrick… surfaced in the harbor. He held a scimitar above the waves. It glittered in the daylight like flame. Reagan's mouth opened in awe as she watched him swim toward the dock.

As they were helping the other immortal onto the dock, Reagan shook her head. She touched Phillip's arm. "Stop who?" she asked.

Phillip glanced at her. "There's a second one on the island."

"Another Nestor?"

Phillip shook his head. "Something far worse. Derrick thinks he knows how to stop him… but it sounds crazy."

Derrick coughed up some water as he sat on the dock. The young woman held his face. Between them was the odd scimitar that glowed and writhed in the light. Reagan's eyes were fixated on it. Slowly… and without any consciousness of doing so, she reached for it. Phillip grabbed her arms and pulled her around to face him.

"That's not for you. Derrick… best claim it again, lad."

"I can't… I hear it now."

"Then how will you use it?" Pierson asked.

"I won't… I'll have to wield the Great Sword… someone else will have to wield this one."

"Who?"

"Actually… I have an idea about that," Derrick chortled. He scrambled to his feet, partially supported by the young woman. "Let me get the other one. I'll carry them both for safety… and then we need to get to the villa. It's time we settle this here and now so that we can go after Nestor."

Reagan didn't understand half of what they were talking about. The scimitar was hidden from her sight now… but she still heard its siren voice begging her to claim it. She could see herself with the sword in her hand… burning like living flame… as she set out to win the game and subjugate the world. She would return the fire of righteousness to mankind.

Reagan collapsed in Phillip's arms and then recovered as Derrick boarded the ship. "Oh man… what is that thing?"

"Something older than all of us," Pierson said soberly. "Something that doesn't really like immortals."

She heard a phonecard _chirp_ and saw Pierson pat his chest and then pull his out. He stared at in confusion. Then he answered it. "MacLeod? Where the hell have you been?"

-----


	70. Chapter Sixty Six

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

**Athens:**

"It's a long story," Duncan said as he spoke into the phone. "Listen… I saw the news about the eruption on the island and I just saw someone who acted a bit like Nestor."

"Steven Keane," Methos replied.

"Yeah… what happened?"

"The eruption is tied to his getting free. Keane killed Valeraine when he saw her. And MacLeod… Ahriman is somehow involved."

Duncan was silent a moment. His mind whirled in confusion at the mention of Ahriman. "It can't be his time. I defeated him."

"Something set him off again."

"Damn," Duncan said. "Are you on Niebos?"

"Yes."

"Is Joe all right?"

"I only just learned he's here. I'm told he's fine."

Duncan felt a wave of relief. "And Reagan Cole?"

"She's right here… do you want to talk to her?"

"Not at the moment. Listen. I'm renting a boat and will be there later today."

"No," Methos replied. "Ellie, Grace and the kids are in Athens. Nestor is in Athens… I need you to go there. Phillip, Derrick and I will handle Ahriman."

"You found Derrick," Duncan smiled.

"Yes now hold on. Phillip what's Denara's address?" He passed the information on to Duncan. "They're there. Eleanor is the only truly capable fighter among that group. I need to know they're all right. I need…" his voice broke.

"I'll watch over them. Just be careful. You can't confront Ahriman directly. He turns your actions against you. The more you fight him… the more strength he has. Joe can probably explain." Duncan shook his head and protested again. "I should be there."

"No… we'll deal with it. Derrick has a plan."

_What sort of plan could Derrick have?_ Then Duncan smiled. "Darius… some memory that Darius had. Derrick has it."

"I think so," Methos replied.

"Later," Duncan said and hung the payphone up. He leaned against it and shuddered a moment. Nestor and Ahriman. He had work to do. He turned to meet Amanda's worried gaze and Sun's complacent expression. "We need a taxi." Pivoting he grabbed the trunk with their swords and led the way out of the terminal where he flagged a taxi at the stand. He rattled off the address as he loaded the steamer trunk into the taxi's trunk. Sun assisted Amanda into the rear seat. Duncan climbed into the front seat. Right now, he was focused on finding and destroying Nestor once and for all.

-----

Eleanor stared at the map of Athens spread out on Denara's kitchen table. A red, fine point marker rocked in one hand. She'd been marking with a dot the approximate locations of where the bodies had been found. She didn't like the pattern she saw. If that had indeed been Nestor she'd sensed when paying Thanos his money, he might even now be on his way here… hoping to lure them out and slay them… or get one of them to slay him. How much would Thanos know about Denara and this place? How much had she told him? Would he even pay attention to Thanos's memories?

Grace and the small ones likewise huddled around the table. Jayne was in the front room, trying to keep Marianna and J.D. occupied… but J.D. kept arguing about helping somehow and that he wasn't a baby and for her to stop treating him like one.

Eleanor rubbed her forehead as another news bulletin came across the airwaves. The commentator seemed very ill at ease as he spoke of witnesses finding partially digested human remains at a petrol station bathroom. Eleanor marked the location.

"That one's on the other side of town," Grace said. She shifted Hope in her arms.

"He's on the move," Eleanor said with a nod. She ran a finger from the cluster of murders to the latest indication of his passing. "Now where is he going?"

"Airport?" Denara asked. The airport was in that area.

Eleanor shook her head. "He can't get out that way. He'd never pass inspection?"

"Why not?" Denara continued.

Eleanor sat back. "Phillip once told me that Nestor always had a problem with impulse control. He saw something he wanted and he went for it… despite knowing he shouldn't. Nestor is free after nearly twenty years. He comes to Athens in a new body and instead of leaving quietly and fading away so that we can't find him… what does he do?"

"Go on a killing rampage," Denis said with a nod. "By the way… do you think that one was Thanos or Keane?" He tapped the spot where one headless corpse was found.

"I'd say Thanos. He wasn't exactly a capable immortal with a sword. That's why he remained in Athens as a petty criminal who could get things for other immortals who happened to be short of cash or on the run," Eleanor explained. "Damn… we were lucky. He was right there."

The group looked up as the front gate bell rang.

"That's likely MacLeod," Eleanor said. "Nevertheless… weapons deployed… let's be careful." She rose and stepped through the house and out into the small courtyard. She could feel multiple immortals beyond the heavy door. Nevertheless, she waited while the small ones moved about the courtyard and hid… then she moved toward the door. She pressed the button. "Yes?"

"Eleanor? It's Duncan."

She opened the door a crack to let him in. She stared at his partially bleached-blonde hair. "Been hiding… eh?"

He glanced upward. "Oh… yeah… forgot about that. Then he moved inside.

Amanda, who had something wrapped in a pale blue blanket, followed him through the door. "Surprise!" she said. Behind her was an Oriental immortal. Eleanor shut and locked the door.

Her eyes widened as the blue bundle moved. She sheathed her sword and moved toward it. "A baby," she said. "How did you?" She looked from one to the other. "Yours?"

"Long story… I'll fill you in later," Duncan said. "I spoke with Adam. He said you needed some help."

Eleanor took the baby from Amanda who was saying that his name was Ian. Grinning, Eleanor moved the blanket from his tiny face and with a practiced hand, stroked his cheek. Sparks of Quickening erupted as she touched him. "He's beautiful."

"Now why doesn't he do that for me?" Amanda sulked.

"You have to relax with him. You're likely too tense." Eleanor turned toward the house. "Grace! Come see!"

Grace, holding Hope emerged from the house and ran toward them. "Oh look at him!" she gushed. Behind her, Jayne and the children peered out of the door.

The Oriental beamed. "There are four of them."

Eleanor shot a questioning glance at MacLeod and at Amanda.

"He seems to feel that they're different," Amanda said with a shrug.

Eleanor turned to the Oriental. He bowed. "I am Kiem Sun… your dutiful servant."

"What do you know about Nestor?" an impatient Duncan suddenly said. He glared at Sun.

"Come on in. We've been charting his progress." Eleanor replied thoughtfully.

"Keane was at the airport," Duncan said as he accompanied her into the house. "He ran off even as I began to understand something was wrong with him. He looked ill."

"That explains the evidence in that bathroom sink," Eleanor said and quickly began to fill Duncan and Amanda in on what they'd learned so far.

Denara looked up as they entered the kitchen. She was marking another dot. "A body found… neck broken. No signs of mutilation." She pointed toward the dot.

Duncan leaned over the table, only vaguely aware that the others were crooning over Ian. He ran his finger over the map. "He's headed out of town… north." He tapped edge of the map and looked at Denara. "Do you have one of Greece? Europe?"

"Of course," the child lisped and pulled another map from a box. Regally she handed it to him.

Duncan spread it on top of the other one and checked the highway number where the last body was found. He ran his finger up the highway. "He's trying to get out of the area. I can rent a car and go after him."

"By yourself?" Eleanor asked. "You know you can't do it alone. You know what will happen."

"I've dealt with a dark quickening before. I can handle it."

"And if you can't? What happens then? Will you return here and slaughter all of us?"

No one made a sound. It was as if all of them hung on his reply. "I can't just let him go."

"What happens to Ian?" Amanda said. "You know he needs you."

"The rest of you can care for him. I need to go. Sun can come with me."

"No," Eleanor said quietly. "You'll only succeed in dying or being lost to us. You have to wait for Adam and Phillip. We have to plan. Reagan will know how to track him. Amanda is right… you need to stay with Ian."

-----

Duncan pushed away from the table with an angry snarl, and then stormed out into the courtyard. He pounded his fist into the heavy wooden door several times and felt bones shatter. He shook his hand. Feeling someone nearby he turned to issue a retort and then noticed it was Marianna. He rubbed his hand as he crouched in front of her with a smile. "Hello Mari," he said. She regarded him soberly. In her hands was a crystal. Duncan felt his coat pockets until he came up with the ebony box. He opened it and stared at the crystal within it. He saw a sleeping Ian, still wrapped in his blue blanket. The vision shifted back and Duncan could see that Amanda held Ian… her face bright and smiling as she met his gaze. He closed the box. "Where did you get that?" he asked Marianna.

"It was on the ship. The lady said I could have it."

"Really," he said and reached over to touch it. It was the one Derrick had inherited, he was certain of it. He could hear the sounds of battle as if from far away just as he'd heard when he'd touched it once before. "Waterloo," he said softly. Waterloo… where he'd met Darius… where his life had been changed forever. He sighed. His life was changed and because of that change… he'd come to know Darius… and after his death… had begun to meet the others beginning with Methos.

Marianna shrugged. Duncan pulled her into his arms and then lifted her into the air as he stood. "What say we figure out how best to help your mommy?" Marianna nodded as she curled against him.

Amanda met him at the door. "If you insist on going… I'm going with you. Maybe because of the bond we can…"

Duncan lifted a finger to touch her lips. "I'm not going now. I'll wait for Phillip, Adam, Derrick and Reagan. It took a dozen immortals nearly two thousand years ago. It will take at least that many this time if we are to find a way to stop him." Then he kissed her.

-----

**Niebos:**

Two by two, Derrick's friends came down the stairs. They were freshly washed and most were in borrowed clothes that they'd taken from the bureaus of the bedrooms. He could see no blood on any of them and of them grinned widely at him.

David and Michelle were holding one another tightly while David nuzzled Michelle's neck. His eyes were bright and beaming and Michelle was giggling. Alisaunne was inserting her tongue into Ren's ear… he grinned, turned, and then pulled her into a passionate kiss; both sets of hands fondled each other. Burke regarded him calmly and clear-eyed for perhaps the first time since he'd found him. Caspar chuckled and crossed his arms. He winked. He seemed ready for anything. Masahiro bowed in respect. Cassandra looked pale, but she lifted her chin as he met her gaze. She'd done what he could not do. Derrick bowed to her in respect.

He glanced around at the others as they also joined his group in the foyer. Greg and John seemed ill at ease near one another. Kenny seemed surer of himself than ever before and the new boy, Micah, while clearly nervous about a fight, looked around at the others bravely. Reagan Cole, whom he'd met earlier in the village, clearly had a lot on her mind, but she met his gaze with a curt nod of her head. Even Phillip and Methos were waiting on him… as if Derrick were the leader here. Beside him, Amber stood quietly, her eyes focused on his every move. In those eyes he saw once more her unconditional love. They might still have some problems… but she was once again ready to be with him. On the upper level of the villa, Derrick could see Joe Dawson looking down on the group. Somehow it seemed right that Dawson was here… that there was a Watcher to chronicle the events. Derrick felt that everyone was waiting on him… waiting for him to have the answers… to come up with the plan of attack. He wondered how his plan and their preconceived notion of what would be expected would mesh. Would they be ready for what he needed them to do? Nervously Derrick cleared his throat.

"Our friends Dieter, Brynn and Sean are dead at the monster's hand. Their quickening remains with us… united as one powerful quickening that resides within our host, Phillip." As the others reacted to this news Derrick glanced around at the immortals. "You've also lost Katherine… whose life and happiness was robbed from her long ago… but who was learning to love again. Indeed… love is the answer."

He pulled the scimitar out and held it up. Light from the windows fell on it. Derrick heard it whisper, but closed his mind to its words… feeling the wrench from the exertion of ignoring its beguiling voice. He twirled it in a circular motion as if it were a baton and watched the light reflected on their faces. He loved all of them and soon saw that love reflected in their eyes. Then he halted the blade and stepped toward Alisaunne.

"We share a Quickening. You know this."

Thoughtfully she nodded. "The ancient's. It waited for me beneath the church. It helped create me." She met Derrick's eyes. "And it was a part of Darius… just as you are."

"Together… we can do this. Together… with their help," Derrick gestured to the other immortals, "we can send Ahriman packing. We can complete the job that Duncan began. We can end his early return caused by Rawlins and his Watchers." He glanced up at Joe and nodded. Then he held the scimitar out to Alisaunne. "You know how to use this?"

"I was trained in using one," she said and lifted it. "Unusual blade. Nicely balanced."

"Does it talk to you?" Derrick asked.

Alisaunne looked at him skeptically. "Talk?" He pulled out the Great Sword and her eyes widened. "Oh," she gasped and reached to caress it. "Justice," she whispered. Then she stared at the scimitar. "They're a pair."

"The last two remnants of an ancient set… a set filled with evil that destroyed the eldest immortals. Everything they say is a lie… but we can use them. With them we can turn the enemy's own weapons against him."

Alisaunne nodded. "In the before time… when the drums spoke and kept the beat of life. When our people loved the land and guarded the Others."

Derrick smiled. "You do know."

Alisaunne slowly nodded; a wondrous expression on her face. "In dreams that never made sense. It's like the pattern on the cavern walls… it's us… and how we face the final evil."

"Evil will exist as long as men fear it and hate it. It will fester while men ignore it," Derrick explained. "But we can turn the tables. Love is the answer."

"Love," she repeated. Alisaunne ran her hands along the scimitar's blade as she considered the concept.

Derrick looked up at the others and slowly regarded each one of them. He moved to each one. "Are you with me?" he asked each in turn. In turn, they each nodded yes… even Kenny. Derrick clasped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Had I come to you all those years ago… while I was still a child… things would have been very different."

Kenny nodded. "You were the boy I wanted to kill… to make immortal… to hurt Phillip."

"Guess it's a good thing you didn't," Derrick winked. "After all… this battle needs all of us." He turned to Amber and hugged her with one arm as he kissed her lightly. He reached out with the other arm to Phillip. All of them closed in and hugged one another in a circle. "Together… we can face the evil of Ahriman… we are one."

"We are one!" the cry went up.

Joe Dawson beamed with pride as he watched from the upper level. "That's my boy," he whispered to himself… as proud of Derrick as if he had been his son. He'd saved the boy's life once… taken a bullet for him. He'd kept his existence a secret from the Watchers. He'd let him read Darius' chronicle when by all the rules of the Watchers he shouldn't have. All of that had gone into Derrick being the man that he was today. "Uh…" Joe suddenly said aloud. "Any idea how I manage to go with you guys?"

The immortals looked up at him.

"Well… I'm a Watcher. Let me do my job. This must be chronicled. Not hidden away and forgotten… but a part of history. After all… a very wise immortal once told me… 'Immortals are part of history'." He winked at Methos who nodded.

"Right then… we need those prosthetics." Methos observed drolly.

-----

Less than an hour later, they were on their way up the mountain. Phillip and Kage… no Kirin he went by now, carried Joe between them most of the way. The boy Micah pushed the empty wheelchair. Joe thought it was all overkill. Damn! He could walk! But they'd not wanted him to overstrain his heart in the climb. The chair was for the way down… if they were successful. After all… they might fail… the volcano might yet erupt while they were up there and while the others might survive… Joe wouldn't. He wasn't worried… well not really. When they'd come to a level portion of the path that crossed the mountainside without rising… they let him down to walk. Micah had found an old cane in the village. It was more of a walking staff than Joe's lost cane… but it helped to steady him. Alone among the group, he wore shoes.

"It's the Pilgrim's Path," Phillip had explained. "It's the way the ancients climbed to the summit and then descended to the cove to ask the oracle a question. Barefoot was traditional."

"Guess I could try it on my stumps," Joe had laughed.

"The crippled were often carried by their loved ones and family." Phillip looked embarrassed at Joe. "No insult intended."

"None taken. Besides… I'm not crippled… just challenged," he laughed back.

The higher they climbed, the more the ground rumbled and the greater the heat from the eruption. The smell of sulfur permeated the air and made them cough. Their lungs felt raw. Phillip tied a wet handkerchief over Joe's nose and mouth at one stop. "Let me know if it gets too bad," he shouted during one loud crack and roar from above.

"You really think going into the mouth of hell is the answer?" Joe shouted back.

"Got a better idea?" Phillip laughed. His eyes were watering from the fumes. "If that dries out… and it will… let me know. I'll wet it down again." He patted the water bottle on his belt.

Joe nodded as Phillip and Kirin picked him up in a fireman's carry as they climbed the next bend of the path.

When they reached the summit… Joe saw the steam vents, the columns of black smoke, and here and there, he noticed lava rising and straining in cracks. It had not yet erupted. But it was only a matter of time. They set him down in the wheel chair. "Stay over here."

"Why… if this thing goes… we're all dead."

"Joe," Methos said leaning over him, his hands on the arms of the wheelchair. "Ellie will kill me if anything happens to you. Now stay over here and Watch."

Joe grinned. "You really think we're both gonna walk out of this alive?"

"One can always hope," Methos said. "In case this is it… so long Joe… you've been a good friend." He squeezed Joe's arm. The two men nodded at one another. Then Methos turned to the others. "All right then. Let's see about getting this show on the road."

"Let's just hope there are no encores," Phillip muttered. "I put him in the one over here." The immortals scrambled over the up heaved rock and the fallen ruins until they were in a rough circle around one of the vents.

"What now?" Reagan asked.

"Now we wait," Derrick replied. "Now we wait."

From the sounds of the rumbling, Joe didn't think they'd be waiting long.

-----


	71. Chapter Sixty Seven

**Chapter Sixty-Seven**

**On the Greek Border:**

Nestor stopped for petrol at a station in the mountains. He watched the two boys playing in the back of a pickup truck with a malicious eye. "No!" he muttered beneath his breath. "I have to get going again." But one of the boys climbed out of the back and laughing at his brother began to back up. He could grab him and drive off. It would be so easy. The father was inside the station. No one else was around.

The boy turned to run and ran into Nestor. He looked up at him and mumbled that he was sorry.

"No harm done," Nestor replied and patted the boy's head, loving the feel of the boy's silky hair. He wanted him… he wanted to him and his little brother. He wanted to eat him afterwards.

The boy backed up a step, staring suspiciously at Nestor. With a wicked gleam in his host's eye, Nestor snapped his teeth at him and then cackled as the boy turned and ran for the station. Well… Nestor hadn't planned on paying for the gas anyway. He pulled the nozzle free and watched petrol pool on the pavement. He lit a match as he drove off and flicked it out the window… smiling and then cackling as the explosion ripped into the sky with a massive plume of oily black smoke and red flame. He'd eat later. After all… he liked his meals raw and still wriggling as he tore off mouthfuls of flesh.

-----

**Athens:**

Eleanor shut off the phonecard after listening to Derrick explain his plan to her. She looked around at the others. "You small ones will understand this best of all. You're one."

The small ones nodded. They'd learned long ago that they had to work as one in order to survive. They were close and she was about to show them how to be even closer. She glanced at Duncan and then at Amanda. "You're one," she said. They nodded and moved closer to one another. Duncan's arm went around Amanda's shoulders.

"I'm one with Adam," Ellie went on. "I love him with all my heart. Do you love one another?"

The others nodded.

"Derrick says love is the answer."

Duncan nodded in understanding. "Something more than just meeting him with an emptiness of emotion."

"I can link with Adam through our unity bond. We can lend our help to them through that." She glanced at Jayne. "You'll Watch… you'll chronicle." Then she shrugged. "And take care of the children."

J.D. shot her a dark glance. "I can help!"

Eleanor shook her head. "Not this time J.D.… but you'll need to watch and remember. Someday you might have to face him too. Evil never really dies, J.D. But together we can banish it. Watch over your sister and the babies."

He pouted, stomping his foot for emphasis, but nodded. Eleanor wanted to hold her children… she wanted to sink onto the floor and hold them rather than push them away and do what Derrick was asking her to do.

"I need you too," he'd told her on the phone just now. "I need everyone. I cannot do it alone."

She swallowed a sob that tried to erupt from her throat, rubbed a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "Get in a circle around the table. You small ones… you've done it before… I've seen you. You've stood in circles and sliced your palms as a promise to help the others when you were out in the world. Do it now. You understood without knowing that our blood unites us." As they began she smiled at Kiem Sun. "You have no clear idea what this is about… but I sense you love those children in the other room… all of them… even if you don't know them. You'd die to protect them. Focus on that and join us." Sun nodded.

Eleanor turned to Grace. "Think about Hope… and about John and Greg. They're on Niebos and will be thinking of you. It's not the bond… but its similar to how you linked when you created Hope. Can you do that? Can you open your heart to both of them and join me?"

Grace blinked away her tears. "Yes. I think I can." The knife continued to move around the circle from one hand to the next.

Amanda shifted in MacLeod's arm about her shoulders as the knife reached her. Eleanor smiled. "Can you find that unity of perfect oneness yet? Can you open your thoughts to one another and love despite everything?" They both nodded slowly. Then she held out her hands at last for the knife. Everyone took clasped hands, their blood uniting all of them as one. Eleanor closed her eyes.

"Through me. Your love for one another is one… through me." She opened her mind and felt Methos. His touch moved on her neck and hers on his. Unity flared.

_We are one_.

From the other room, Marianna stared at her daddy and Opa and their friends on the mountain. She smiled. She loved her daddy. She loved Opa. She could help… the lady said so.

J.D. flung himself onto the couch and sulked as he stared at Jayne with the two infants… one in a carrier and one in her lap. His little sister was besotted by that stupid crystal! He wanted to snatch it from her, and throw it away. He didn't belong in here… he belonged in there… with his mom and his friends. He sulked in anger and resentment and felt hot tears on his cheeks. He wasn't a child. Even Sarah Manning had said so. He could almost see her crouching before him, her blouse open. He could recall the soft feel of those small breasts in his hands. There was something sickeningly sweet about her breath when she kissed him… something that made him long for her to kiss him again. His eyes snapped open as he gasped.

Marianna had risen and was shaking him. "Don't think of the bad lady, J.D." She held up the crystal. "Think of Opa." J.D. blushed. Surely his little sister hadn't seen anything… but that stupid crystal kept entrancing her since she'd found it. J. D. sat up and pulled her back against him. He looked over her shoulder at the crystal as he touched it. "Show me Dad… show me Phillip." For a moment he saw only a fog of smoke and mist. He seemed to be flying through the air… like an eagle must soar on the wind. The clouds parted and he saw them on the mountain… them and the others. He could help… they could both help. "I love you, Dad," he whispered. "I love you too Uncle Phillip." His vision shifted to Derrick. He stared at him a long moment and then smiled… recognizing within the man a kindred spirit… something important. He grinned.

"Your Opa," Marianna said with certainty.

J.D. nodded. Somehow, he knew that what she said was true.

-----

**Niebos:**

He rose like living flame from the vent… barely human-shaped; the fire cooling into black patches that moved and cracked, showing the molten lava beneath. "What have we here?" he hissed as he turned to regard those who thought to face him. He had come into his own now… he had no need of other weapons. He was beyond their feeble abilities to stop.

None of them had swords drawn… not that even a sword could stop him now. He threw back his head and laughed riotously. Then he pointed at one of the males, his laugher intensified as fire shot forth from his hand and ignited the man. The young female next to him screamed in terror and loss and nearly rushed forward to certain death in his embrace. Others pulled her back. He could hear her sobbing and screaming. He'd have them now. They'd attack and die. The male's burning form sank to the ground.

One of the others covered him, patting him desperately as he put the fire out.

Without concern, the demon turned. "Who dares challenge me?"

"I do," another male said. He stepped forward bearing one of the swords his dark father had forged at the dawn of time.

"That won't work on me," the creature laughed. "My father forged that in the fires of hell. Those fires also created me."

"But it will protect me," the tall young immortal said. The circle of immortals closed behind him as he stepped forward. He regarded the demon with a calm expression.

The demon raised an arm to dispense more fire. The immortal shifted the sword in a stylized move. The flame was diverted.

"You can't keep that up forever," the demon laughed.

"Nor can you."

"I am eternal! I was when the world was created out of fire. I waited in the molten heart of creation for the time to rule. My time is now!"

"You are nothing. You have no place here." The immortal began a _kata_ and the reflection of the fire off the great blade he used blinded even a creature who no longer had mortal eyes. He flinched and turned away with a hiss.

A female stepped forward. In her hands was a second of the swords. "You cannot pass this way." She likewise began a _kata_. He noted the calm demeanor of her face and felt power reflected from that blade as well. The creature turned.

A tall immortal… who counted his age in millennia faced him. Around him and within him was a powerful force of others… stronger than anything the creature had ever felt. He staggered back and turned again.

The burly man he'd not killed the night before shone before him. Within him and about him was a power like that of the ancients. "I will not allow you to just kill anyone else," he said softly.

The demon turned bent nearly double. The two with the swords continued to twirl and move, the fires of hell reflecting off of the blades. But it wasn't just that… from them he sensed… love? Love for him? Love for all creation? Love for their comrades? Love for all the others? It made no sense to the demon. Love was nothing! Yet he wailed and held the form of his head between his burning hands. The love was pouring out from all of them now… burning even more brightly than the flames of hell. It was a shield that protected them. He staggered and turned again… but the two had closed in on him. The other plane… he could retreat there and come back stronger. He sucked in a great breath… yet even as he did so… the male grasped him. His fires could not touch him… so hard was he. So firm in his resolve that justice would be done… and love was the answer. The male kissed him… blowing cool, fresh air into the demon's maw. The creature wrenched free in pain and terror and then turned. Now the female grabbed him and kissed him. She was not impervious to him. He could burn her to cinders. But someone stood with her… little more than a wraith… the memory of someone she loved. He was a shield that protected her. Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said pulling back from the creature. "Ian, I can touch you. I can see through your eyes. I 'm no longer dead inside where you are." She closed her eyes and seemed to kiss the air before her. "I love you." The creature howled in pain.

The two immortals handed their swords to the other two to twirl and reached out one hand to hold onto the demon. They held their other hand out to each other and laced their fingers. The world vanished in smoke and flame and then settled into one ice and snow in all directions. Their breath misted in the frigid air. The creature had retreated to the other plane of existence… but it was not as it should have been… and his enemies were here as well.

The demon struggled again to burn them both… but the flames of love burned in them… protected them… shone out of them. Not just one love… but the love of all of them… forged into a shield and a weapon far more deadly than a sword could ever be. His flames flickered.

"No," he mewled. "Not like this." The ice about his feet sizzled, melted, and then refroze… impervious to his flames, which slowly began to die. "Not this way… not the ice and cold of eternity." He began to collapse in upon himself… a smoldering heap that became ash that blew away on the wind.

-----

"I see Nestor… I see through his eyes. His mind is wide open to me. I never realized that. I never wanted to touch it," Alisaunne whispered as the demon faded away and her gaze centered on Derrick… rapt in his blue eyes.

"Don't let him feel you," Derrick whispered and touched her face. "He has no idea that you would ever try to touch his thoughts."

"He's going north. He wants money and time to hide and then burst out again. I can follow him."

"Later perhaps… not now. Gently now… pull back."

Alisaunne gasped and pulled her mind free of Nestor's. She blinked and looked around. The icy landscape had vanished and the reality of the volcano had returned. But already things were calming without the demon's influence. Already the smoke was drifting away… the lava was crusting over and cooling. The ground no longer rumbled. "Did we do it?"

"Aye," Phillip replied. "I think so. Seems calmer now." His face still shone with the power and love of Aja who'd taught him first though it was slowly fading. Alisaunne turned to Methos. His eyes were closed and he was clearly in contact with Eleanor. A smile played over his lips. She ached for that kind of connection to anyone. With a sob in her throat, she turned away and stared at the others. They were all starting to come out of it now… out of the hypnotic state created by the swords. They'd used them to amplify their own love and drawn some from the others… even through Methos' link with Eleanor. They had all been here and with one thought… loved one another.

Alisaunne swallowed and rubbed her head as she turned to Ren. She flung her arms around him. "You were there… I could feel you."

"Aye," he said in wonder. "'twas like nothing I've ever felt. You were amazing."

Methos meanwhile sighed and opened his eyes. "Well that was interesting."

"I heard drums," Tyler Burke was telling Caspar. "And I could see Odette. She was here… she was stomping her feet and chanting… just like when she was alive. She knew! My Odette knew."

"Really," Caspar replied with an arched eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled indulgently.

Michelle was on the ground next to the burned body of David. "Will he be all right?" she wept as Greg Powers examined him.

"It won't be easy. He's better off dead for a while. Burns are the worst death an immortal can suffer."

Cassandra stepped up to Methos and smiled at him. "I understand now. I understand that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. I loved you once… and that fueled my hate. They say the greater the one… the more enduring the other."

Methos nodded. "I know. Believe me when I tell you… how I treated you was one of the greatest regrets of my life."

"So what now?" Kenny asked.

Alisaunne turned to him. "I think we plan how to catch Nestor in his own net."

Micah nudged Phillip. "Is the creature truly gone?"

"For a while. At least for a thousand years… at least as long as we remember. As long as we love one another and protect mankind."

Methos pulled out his _chirping_ phonecard. "Eleanor… I'll be there tonight. Derrick's ship will bring us all home." He laughed. "Yes… it's safe for the moment. The demon is banished and the door is locked. We have plans to make though… plans that might encompass far more than just finding Nestor. I saw something in the vision… you saw it too… the gateway. Now all I have to do is figure out where it is… but I have an idea." His voice drifted away as he moved toward Dawson.

Alisaunne threw back her head and laughed. It was good to be alive. Then she grabbed Ren Caulfield and kissed him firmly on his mouth. "I love you… I really do." To her delight, Warren Caulfied Cochrane kissed her back.

-----


	72. Chapter Sixty Eight

**Chapter Sixty-Eight**

**Niebos:**

Duncan MacLeod stared at the sleeping body of his son. Ian was his son… in all the ways that mattered now. He was only one of the three parents… but the others were dead… and he knew he'd die to protect him. Duncan sighed as Amanda grasped his arm and also looked down at Ian.

"Well it was fun being Mrs. MacLeod for a while."

"You mean you don't want that any more," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh… well… I guess I'll always be a part of you and me a part of you… but I understand if you want or need to…"

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly. Then laid his brow next to hers as he breathed in her scent. "I won't let you go… not unless you insist on it."

"Well… I just didn't want to insist on staying."

"Stay with me," he whispered. "We're going to have to find where Nestor's disappeared to. Now that we're all together… maybe we can finally solve that last piece of the puzzle… and I need you here."

"Not just to care for the baby," she reminded him. "Don't you dare relegate me to being the babysitter!"

"No… but he needs you too. He needs all of us."

Amanda sighed and glanced the room. "I just don't know how Phillip is going to manage with so many of us here. We'll have no privacy."

Duncan laughed. "We'll manage."

Somehow… Amanda figured they would.

-----

Derrick lifted the crystal from Marianna's hands. "I wondered where that was."

"The lady said I could hold it."

"I think the lady is right. Maybe you should hold it." He held it a moment longer… staring into its depths at the scenes of ice and snow which were all he'd seen in it for some time and sighed. Then he handed it back. "I think it's shown me all I need to see. Hold it and watch with an open heart. The wonders of time can be yours."

Marianna giggled as she took it back and then flounced proudly out of Phillip's study.

"That little girl is a strange one," Amber said from beside him.

"Oh… no stranger than I was." He turned back to her ran his fingers on her face and skin. "Now where were we?"

"Ya make me tingle all over when ya do that."

"Good," he laughed and kissed her, loving the way she felt as she moved next to him… like the other half of his soul… the other half of his heart.

-----

At the hospital, Michelle listened to the machines as David wheezed in the bed. Greg had given him something to keep him unconscious once David had gasped back to life… screaming in pain. "I'll keep a close eye on him… don't worry," he'd told her.

She sat beside him now, tears in her eyes. "I love you David… more than I ever thought possible. I won't leave you. I won't give up on you… hear me and know I'm here. Listen to the sound of my voice and know I'm here."

The machine continued to _wheeze_ and _clunk_ as it helped his tortured body breathe. Slowly his body recovered and the burns became scars… and the scars faded. But she understood that he'd bear some of them for a while.

-----

Phillip sat on the steps of the _portico_ and stared out at the island village below. A handful of people had returned once the geologists had announced their findings that the volcano showed no further signs of erupting. They were _his_ people… even though he'd not been born here. They were his to care for as long as he lived. He'd always known that… but now it touched him even more deeply that over two thousand years ago, Danäe had seen it… known it… and given him the honor and the challenge. Him… a slave boy who knew nothing of honor, love, responsibility or commitment. _Be my champion. Save my people_. He smiled and felt an upwelling of emotion for his long-dead teacher. He wondered how much of her lived in Derrick and Alisaunne. In the yard… the small ones stood holding hands in a circle that now, at last included Kenny. Phillip could see the blood on their hands. They were stronger together than they would ever be apart. Now even Kenny seemed to understand that. He was at long last… one of them.

Reagan settled down beside him. "I've been going over all the places that Steven told me about… where he had homes and nightclubs… where he had banks. We have to start hunting him."

"We will," Phillip said. "But we can find him no matter where he goes. We have Ali to help us."

"I don't understand."

"Nestor raped and bonded with her when she was a child. She's always been terrified of him. Now… now I think she can see through some of that fear. If she's careful… she'll know how to find him … and he'll never know she's there. But it's a harsh thing we ask of her… to strengthen the bond between herself and the monster."

Reagan shook her head. "I don't get all this mumbo-jumbo."

Phillip laughed. "And you don't believe in demons."

"Well… I did see something in that fire we put out. But it's all sort of hazy. I mainly knew how much I loved Steven, MacLeod and even you. That's what made sense to me. I want to save him somehow. Is that how you felt about Valeraine for all these years? That somehow there was a way to save her?"

"Aye. Did I ever tell you about Nick Wolfe?" Reagan shook her head and Phillip continued. "He was a brave young man. Nestor treated him cruelly… mutilating him and he should have given up hope and begged for death like Brynn did in the hospital. I told you about Brynn." Reagan nodded. Phillip continued. "But he didn't give up. Given the chance… he faced Nestor and killed him. He took that evil into himself and he kept his sanity for eight years. And not once in all those years did Valeraine ever stop loving him and believing in him. I think her love for him and his for Marie-France and for Valeraine, helped him. It gave him peace and strength in the face of unmitigated evil."

"But even he fell."

"Aye… and so we'll have to find another way. No one was there to help Valeraine. No one was there to help Steven… not that way… or maybe the only love that can reach Nestor now is Ali's. And she hates him."

"And it's you he wants. Your power… your quickening."

Phillip nodded. He should have killed Nestor millennia ago… but he hadn't known how to without losing himself in the process. He still might. Phillip shuddered a bit… cold even in the face of the sunshine beating down on his head. It wasn't over… not yet.

-----

Cassandra stood in the cove and wept for the loss of Sarah Manning. Her young student had always been a troubled immortal and Cassandra had been unable to truly give her what she needed. But no one should die as Sarah had died. Phillip and Eleanor had told her what Nestor had told them. Sarah's gift of immortality had been used and destroyed so that a demon could once more find a way into the world. Cassandra felt bereft and alone.

"I did love you Sarah," she whispered to the waves. "Maybe not as you needed and not as much as you wanted, but I did love you."

"She knows that," Tyler Burke said from the stone steps above. "May I join you? My Odette would have loved this place. She knew about magic… did my Odette."

"Of course," Cassandra said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Burke hit the sand beside her. He drew in a great breath and then let it out. "Yep… magic. Odette always told me there was magic in the world if I would ever open my eyes to see it." He turned to her. "Thank you for giving Odette back to me. I can mourn her now. I can move on."

"Yes," Cassandra nodded. "We have to mourn and move on with our lives."

"The demon is gone for now… but we still have far to go." He stared out at the sea spray as the waves hit the rocks and glistened like sparkles in the sunshine. "We have to look for the magic and listen to what it tells us."

"What does the magic out there tell you?" Cassandra asked.

"That life can be good if we share our blessings," Burke said with a nod of his head. "Yep… we got to share good things with the others. We can't hoard them."

Cassandra laughed for the first time in days. It felt good to laugh. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. Around her unseen… the pathways of the future seemed broad and lit with sun.

-----

In the kitchen, Methos smirked as Eleanor kneaded some dough. "Don't laugh," she told him. "I watched Denara do it. I can do it. See… she even wrote the steps down for me." She indicated an index card partially covered with dough and flour. The writing on it was smearing from the moisture.

"Doesn't matter," he smirked. "I'd love you anyway. Besides… I've eaten peacock brains and pickled snails. I think I can manage your bread." She flicked a hand at him and a sprinkle of flour hit his nose.

"Don't make me lose the count. If I knead too long… the bread gets doughy and doesn't rise right."

"I'm familiar with that," he teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she rolled it into a mound and, after checking the directions, brushed melted butter over it. "Have you talked to J.D. yet? Something happened to him before the mountain blew. Something that upset him. I think he needs to talk to you. He keeps pulling back from me."

"I haven't yet. I will," Methos replied. As Eleanor finished with the bread and turned to open the oven, he pinched off a piece and tasted it. He smiled slightly and then feigned innocence when she turned back to slide the mound of dough into the oven. She didn't seem to notice the small pinch. Methos wondered if she'd over bake it, under bake it, or manage to forget it was there.

But she slid it into the oven, closed the door and set the timer. Then she turned back to him and wiped her hands on the towel about her waist. "Now we wait."

"However shall we fill the time," he smirked. She laughed and began to clean up the table. He waited until she was near him and then he pulled her onto his lap. "Have I told you how much I love you?" he asked her.

She smiled thoughtfully and leaned in to kiss him. "Not in the last half hour."

He bent her down across his lap as he kissed her long and deep, holding her close and letting his mind dart into hers and run along with her thoughts. He almost thought he could hear music.

-----

Grace wiped the lab counter down and positioned the computer just as she wanted it. She patted the stack of files. Then she sighed and turned to look at Greg and John, standing at the doorway and looking uneasy with each other and with her. They avoided her gaze, choosing to look at anything rather than at her. She pulled up a stool.

"Have a seat," she told them.

The two glanced around and grabbed other lab stools to do as she said.

"We have to talk… we have to clear the air," Grace continued.

The two were silent.

"I love both of you. I need both of you in my life. I need you and Hope needs you. So… where do we go from here?"

The two men finally looked at her and she could see how much they both ached to hold her and how uneasy they were in front of the other. They'd fought. They'd nearly killed each other at least once… and the signs were still there that it could happen again.

"We aren't mortals," Grace continued. "It's not that we have longer lives… it's also biology and how we reproduce. Evidently there are bonds between us that we didn't even know existed. We have to work with this. We have to find what works."

Greg snorted. "We take turns? Is that what you're suggesting?"

John snarled and crossed his legs as he looked away.

"No… maybe I need to sleep alone for a while. Maybe each of you needs to spend time with Hope."

No," cried John suddenly. "I don't want to lose you."

"You're not. But in the face of all of this… until you two can work out your aggressions and put Hope and me first… then I have to do this. I don't want to hurt either of you. I want you both. But until we can figure out a way without one of us killing the other… I think we have to take this slowly. And we have to be honest with one another… about everything."

Greg nodded. "I love you… but I think it was my love of Hope that brought me back from the edge. I will never let anything endanger her."

"You make me want to be a better man," John said simply. "You make me whole."

Grace smiled and blinked away tears. "You make me feel beautiful and desirable, Greg. You make me want to kick off my shoes and drink champagne. I feel fully alive when you kiss me. I ache for something more." She turned to John. "Your love is a constant with me. I feel it all day long and sometimes I cannot fathom how you can love _me_ so much. It makes me wonder if I can live up to the honor. But it also thrills me when I least it expect it. I come into a room and you look up at me, and nothing else matters. Nothing at all."

She took a deep breath. "So… we have to find a way to make this work and we have to promise not to kill one another."

The two men nodded. They glared at one another, each one wanting to be the one. Somehow… they had to move beyond that and become one family.

-----

Joe Dawson shut off the phonecard and stared at it warmly. Amy sounded relieved that he truly was all right. He missed her and he missed the children. With luck… he'd be back in Paris soon.

He glanced up at Jayne Wyndham-Wyatt and smiled. "I guess we do that debriefing now."

"Yes," she nodded. "I wish that I'd been here… but even being in Athens and watching them stand around that table and hold hands… I swear I could see a shield of light about them."

"I saw it here too. Derrick used the swords to make their love for one another a powerful force that Ahriman's creature couldn't stand against. I guess love is all you really need."

"Eleanor said it was something Darius used to say. I never knew him of course. But I did read his chronicle when I was at school. It included a number of his sermons. He preached about the power of love and the importance of the bonds of friendship. He knew the answers… before the question was even asked."

"Yeah," Joe said. He stood up, listing slightly to the left. He used the staff to steady himself. His legs were going to need a really good adjustment when he got home. The salt water had done a number on some of the joints. He did like the staff Micah had found for him. He grinned and lunged with it slightly.

"Be careful Mr. Dawson," Jayne said.

"Oh you can call me Joe… everybody does," he laughed. "And lunging is one of the exercises my doctors have had me trying with these legs. They're far more receptive than older models were… still not the real thing, of course… but pretty damn close. Maybe that fellow Sun will give me a few lessons. I can definitely see this as a weapon."

"You are beginning to worry me Mr. Daws… Joe."

"I never did like sitting on the sidelines. I always wanted to be an active Watcher. When I die… I want to know I've lived."

Jayne smiled and nodded. "Yes… to be a part of history."

"Damn straight," Joe said. "Now lets get these reports done. There is a young lady I want to claim a dance with later."

"Oh?"

"Ellie promised me a dance if I ever got out of that wheelchair and came to Niebos and I intend to collect," Joe grinned. "Why else do you think I got these fancy new legs, and got into such good physical shape?"

Jayne crossed her legs. "You do know she's married."

"Yeah… but I can dream, can't I."

His laughter and hers could be heard in the hallway.

-----

Alisaunne stretched on the bed as she grinned widely at Ren. "Do I still call you Ren?"

He laughed, supporting his head on his hand and elbow. "Well… I know it sounds like a bird… but I do like the way you say it."

"How do I say it?"

"As if you love me."

"I do love you. I finally feel like Ian is at peace… that he knows I loved him and that a part of me always will. I've been so afraid that he hated me for the things I asked him to do… you know… the rough sex. He never really liked that."

"And you fought the last time you saw each other."

"And we fought… and he never knew how much I truly loved him."

"So what's the story with Duncan and that baby."

"Parents dead… he's a pre-immortal. You know Duncan… the original Boy Scout."

"It's just odd the way he feels so responsible for him. Usually those children are just placed somewhere."

"Yeah… but it's a horrible thing to grow up without knowing who you are. This way little Ian Connor will always have a family around him that can help him."

Why did he ask you about the baby's name?"

"Well… Ian was Duncan's father's name and that was the name the baby's mother wanted to use. He was afraid it would upset me."

"You don't seem upset."

"I'm not," Alisaunne laughed and rolled over next to him, lifting a leg to slide it down his. "I think Ian in honor of Duncan's father and his last student is perfect. I can be a godmother and spoil him terribly."

"But you said Ian Connor."

"Well… it _is_ his name. Besides… I saw the grin on Duncan's face when I called him that. He really did want to name him Connor even if he acted like he didn't." She scooted closer to him. "Now what about that thousand kiss technique… does it work both ways?"

Ren grinned. "I certainly hope so." He flung himself onto his back and spread his arms and legs. "Your canvas awaits my lady."

"Where to start?" she laughed and then she knew where. There was a small scar on his side… likely leftover from some childhood trauma. She bent to kiss it lovingly and then worked her way slowly across his chest. She didn't get too much further before he hugged her to him and kissed her lips.

"Cheater!" she laughed. But it was all good… and there were no shadows for a bit… and no nightmares.

-----

Marianna climbed the wide marble stairs from Opa's study where she'd shone Derrick the crystal. He'd told her to keep it. She came level with J.D. and sat beside him. "Everybody's happy," she said.

"Yeah," J.D. moped. "Course the bad guy still got away."

"I know," she piped up. "But we got to come home."

"Only for a while. Mom and Dad were talking about taking us someplace else."

"Bora Bora," Marianna said with certainty.

"Do you even know what Bora Bora is?"

Marianna shrugged. "Another island?"

J.D. laughed. "Yeah… but I got a feeling that with the new baby and all the other immortals here… we're gonna be sticking around until they get this Nestor guy."

Mariana moved closer to him. J.D. put his arm about her shoulders and stared at the crystal. "I thought you were giving that back."

"Your Opa said for me to keep it. You ought to go talk to him. He's nice. I like him. Momma likes him too."

J.D. gazed thoughtfully at the open door to Phillip's study. Maybe Derrick was someone he _could_ talk to. The idea had merit. Derrick was a lot younger than his dad or even Uncle Phillip. Maybe he'd understand what had happened to J.D. and would help him without telling J.D.'s parents. J.D. grinned. He just needed to talk to him alone.

Outside the sunlight gleamed over the island and he could hear the chatter of voices upstairs and downstairs as well as out in the yard. He supposed that it was like having a really big family. He'd heard lots of other kids talking in school about having loads of aunts and uncles and cousins. He'd only really had his mom, dad and Marianna… and Uncle Phillip sort of. Maybe this was what it was like to have a really big family.

-----


	73. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

_**City of the Parisii, 410 C.E.:**_

The winter sun shone weakly through a break in the storm clouds. Frost lingered even in mid-morning on the grass and small icicles could be seen hanging from the bare branches of nearby trees. Snow was coming… a big one. Darius leaned forward on his gray horse and peered at the landscape ahead of him as he patted the gelding's neck. His breath and that of the horse condensed as small white clouds that lingered about their faces in the cold air. 

"Easy there big fella," he said as he patted. The gelding felt it too… he pranced about on the frosted grass, eager to be off. Ahead of them was the city. Gray smoke rose from the chimneys and layered over this bastion of civilization. His army would winter well here. There would be shelter, food, water and women enough to satiate them all.

His scout came running back over the fields. He pounded his chest and saluted as he came to a stop beside Darius. "My general!"

"Report," Darius said in his clipped manner.

"I saw no signs of their army. I saw no one hiding in the stand of trees beyond. Only one lone man stands at the one bridge that crosses the river to the city."

"One man," Darius replied thoughtfully. He could feel the immortal even at this distance. His spies had told him truly… a holy man lived there… a man of magic and long life.

"My general," Grayson said from Darius' right side. "Let me deal with this man."

Darius gestured to his scout. "Return to your unit. Await my orders." The man saluted and raced off. Darius turned to Grayson and said coldly. "I can feel him from here. How far are we from the city."

Grayson paled. "A half mile at least, Darius… maybe more."

"Have you ever felt an immortal from so far?"

Grayson shook his head. "You know I have not."

"Then the legends are true. He may well be the oldest and most powerful of all of us. Do you really think you could defeat such a man?"

"I only meant… allow me to strike the first blows. While he is weakened… you can take his head. The army needs shelter in the face of this storm. We cannot turn aside on the road and go further."

"No," Darius said with a sigh. "We can't. But you'd die to let me kill him while we was weakened? Is that what you meant?"

"No… I would distract him and then…"

"I would cheat?" Darius chuckled. "I fight my battles straight on Grayson… you and the others know that. I have little patience for subterfuge."

Grayson's horse pawed at the ground, as he looked down, chastened by his mentor. "I have had dreams about this place. It is important I am to meet this immortal."

"So you've said," Darius sighed. "Had the weather held… we might have reached the ocean and camped there. Instead, we turn aside to attack and plunder another city. Do you ever tire of it?"

"I live to fight, my general. I live to serve."

"Aye… you say that. But if you were to take the head of this immortal… how long before you would challenge me? Come for my head?"

Grayson sputtered. "Darius… I would never kill you."

"But if… as they say… there can be only one?"

"I swear to you by all the gods, Darius. I will never challenge you until only the two of us remain!"

Darius glanced behind him at the other two mounted immortals located at the forefront of his army. "You would challenge the others?"

"Not unless you gave me leave," Grayson back-pedaled from his earlier pronouncement. "We have a bond… we live to serve you. I live at your command."

Darius nodded. "Remember that. I could easily have taken your head the day you died under the hooves of my cavalry. I gave you back your chance at life."

"Yes my general. I remember."

Darius stared ahead at the city. "I think I will face him alone. Our battles are not for the eyes of others. Remain with the army until I return."

"It is not wise to go alone Darius."

"Either I will win or he will. If I win… the city is ours. If he wins… you can attack if that is your pleasure."

"Our bowmen could kill him. Then we could attack," Grayson suggested, hoping to prevent Darius from this confrontation. His dreams had always shown it was his destiny to kill this immortal… to use whatever means necessary to kill the old one and then take command of the army. Grayson closed his mouth. Darius would die at the immortal's hands and Grayson would command. If his general were insistent upon meeting the immortal… then Grayson would protest no longer. He hid his knowing smile and thought of the shadowy figure in his dreams that had made him insist they come here.

"Bowmen… again… cheating," Darius laughed. "The others might not care for that."

Grayson said nothing. He would be in command. The army would follow him. The other two immortals would follow his lead or they would die. Already he could visualize taking their heads.

"Hopefully I will be back before evening," Darius said. He lifted his horse's reins and lucked to urge him forward. "Stay with the army!" He rode forward, passing outlying buildings whose doors and windows were barred and shut. He heard dogs barking as he rode easily along the frozen dirt road. Once, he thought he saw people running for shelter. But other than that… the ride was uneventful.

By the time he approached the wooden bridge that crossed the river, his head pounded with the over-strong presence of the man standing there. He had dark, gray-streaked hair, worn long and a beard of some length. He wore a simple shapeless, gray garment of some rough weave and girded with rope. On his feet were sandals. He leaned on a long staff.

Darius reined to a stop before him. Then more loudly than he planned, perhaps because the thrumming in his head was so loud, he ordered, "Stand aside."

The immortal chuckled. "You cannot pass. This way is closed to you. The city is not for you or for your army. Go around. There is nothing here for you."

"My men suggest I have my bowmen shoot you and then the city is ours."

"You don't think an arrow would give me more than a moment's pause do you? I say again… the way is closed."

"And if I meet you in combat? If I challenge you for the city?"

"Then you'd lose," the other said. He shifted his staff.

"You don't even have a sword," Darius snorted as he swung his right leg over his horse's back and slid to the earth. He reached to pull the long sword he always carried free from its scabbard. He'd had that sword since he was a boy. He turned to face the old man, noticing that just as he'd noticed before with other immortals when they first saw this sword, the man's eyes widened and his gaze fixated on the sword. His mouth rounded in an "O". Darius swung the sword a few times to warm up and then unclasped his heavy cloak and tossed it onto the gray's back.

"You like my little blade. It's seen a lot of action in the four hundred years I've used it."

The old man looked at him strangely. "You think I want that blade? I didn't fear it when it took my father's head. I didn't fear it when it took my daughter's. I didn't long for it when it stole from me wife, brother, family, people and life. I do not fear or long to wield it now." He spit derisively on the ground. "Your traps didn't catch me then demon… they won't now."

Darius stared at him puzzled. "Father? Daughter? I don't understand."

The old man gazed at him quizzically. "I'm told that thing speaks to those who wield it."

Darius threw back his head and laughed. "I've heard that too. Even the old woman who gave it to me when I was a boy said that." He sobered. "But swords don't talk. I think it is only the fevered desires of your own mind. A sword is just a sword." He held it horizontally out before him with both hands. "Now fight me or the city is mine."

"An old woman gave you that sword?"

Darius nodded and began to move slowly to his left… carefully noting the nature of the ground and getting a feel for it. He would have to be careful here. The frozen earth was slippery.

"Tell me how it came to you," the old man said. He moved to his right… lifting the staff before him.

Darius shrugged. "She paid me to retrieve it. It was her father's sword. I dove into a hole to get it." He shrugged. "We boys of my village often climbed into the holes and gullies of the mountain to find treasure. I found it and took it from the hand of a dead man." He smiled grimly. "The man of course wasn't truly dead… just trapped."

The old man nodded. "But you escaped."

"The mountain fell in an explosion the same year I was born. I thought for years that I'd dreamed that man broke free and grabbed at me when I plucked the sword from his hand. After I died… I understood. He was an immortal… still trapped under the mountain."

"Likely his just reward," chuckled the old man. "And in all the years you've carried that sword… it has never spoken to you."

Darius laughed again and lunged forward. The old man shifted the staff so suddenly that his blade bounced off of it. Darius pulled back. He was still getting the feel of this man's style… but already something seemed familiar. "You move like Anya," he said, finally making the connection.

"Is that the name she used," the old man said. He twirled his staff before him as he moved forward a bit and then replanted it on the earth with a thud.

"She fought off bandits one day while we searched the rubble of the mountain. Never had I ever seen a staff so used… and successfully against iron."

"You were born after the mountain fell?" the immortal asked.

Darius nodded.

"Let me guess… you like to build things. You like to create."

Darius laughed. "My father was an iron-worker. I learned at his knee."

"And so you keep that sword in perfect shape."

"Truthfully… it seldom needs work."

The old man sighed and nodded. "No… it wouldn't."

"So do we fight?"

The old man leaned on the staff and seemed to ponder the idea. He glanced around at the silent houses. "Our game is not for the curious."

"That grove perhaps?" Darius suggested. He suddenly feinted right and sliced to the left. The old man spun, twirled the staff by one end and slammed it against Darius' back. He _oofed _as he fell… his sword dropped from his hands and landed a few feet away. Darius rolled toward it and grabbed it up once more. He turned to face the old man.

"The grove is holy ground," the old man explained. "I, at least will not fight there. I would not defile the earth. But there is a place not far from here. Swear to me that your men will not attack while we are engaged in combat."

Darius rubbed his back and stretched to work out the already fading pain of the blow. "I swear it. My army will hold their position until I return… or until dawn tomorrow."

"Very well then," the immortal said and gestured for Darius to follow him. He led the way into a small clearing in a wooded area. Pine needles carpeted the ground beneath the tall trees whose tops were lost in the low, snow-laden clouds. Even now… flakes began to fall and were sticking to the branches. Darius blew on his hands and rubbed them. They were cold even within his leather gloves. He stomped around the clearing… again feeling for firm ground. The needles were slippery. He'd have to allow for that. He kicked some of them away and planted his feet as he faced the old man. Darius bent slightly and rocked on the balls of his feet… anxious for this battle to be over with… one way or the other.

-----

This barbarian general was not what Havron had expected. He was polite and Aja had clearly touched him as a child in much the way she'd touched the boy Methos. Was he the one the demon had sent? He bore the demon's weapon, but used it as if it were not a weapon of evil bout simply a tool.

Havron easily avoided the next lunge and leaped into the air, twirling as he did so. He altered the position of his staff and jabbed it into the barbarian's face. The man stumbled back… blinking his eyes and appearing stunned, even as a great bruise spread across his right cheek and then slowly faded. He leaned over and spit blood.

"That hurt," he said as he rubbed his jaw.

"One doesn't need a blade to inflict damage."

"But one needs a blade to take a head," the barbarian retorted.

"Oh… I could have brought one… but declined," Havron chuckled. "My student thought I was being unnecessarily foolhardy though."

The barbarian nodded. "Mine wanted to fight you first and then have me attack while you were otherwise engaged."

"The young seldom understand," Havron sighed as he neatly avoided another lunge and slammed the staff down on the blade. Had it been any other sword… it might have broken in the impact. He pulled the staff back and paced to his left before setting himself once more… holding the staff horizontally before him. "But then you are younger than my student so I don't expect you to understand."

"You spoke of father… daughter earlier?"

"And you also spoke of a father," Havron replied. "We have bonds to those who raise us and those we raise. It is our love for them that keeps us strong." Havron thought momentarily of Aja but once more closed his heart and mind to prevent the vision of her with Leila's severed head in one hand and that sword in the other. He would not let the demon distract him. He was determined to meet this challenge as he'd met the other tests of the demon… with no emotion… and a minimum of force.

He tripped the barbarian general and grinned when he went sliding over the pine needles on the ground. Havron twirled and thudded the staff into his opponent's back, hearing the snap of his ribs from the force of the blow. Again he pulled back. "Had enough?"

The barbarian rose on his knees and rubbed his side as he spit blood and glared at Havron. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"I have learned over the millennia to pace myself. Some of challengers want everything over with in the blink of an eye."

"How many have you defeated?"

"I don't keep count. A few become my students later… or they move on and leave me in peace."

The barbarian was on his feet. "I am Darius. I will be no man's student… and my army will raze the city to the ground."

"That's a Persian name. Funny… you don't look Persian."

"I'm a Goth. My first mentor was Persian."

"Was that Ahaseurus? He was a student of mine once."

Darius paused; the sneer on his face began to fade. "Ahaseurus was one of the eldest of us all."

"Was he? My… my… and to think he sat at my feet five thousand years ago or so and begged for enlightenment."

"How old are you?"

Havron sighed and shook his head. "In truth… I don't know. I was here long ago… when men used stone as weapons… and wore animal skins." He shuddered slightly at the thought of that. "Did you kill him?"

"Ahaseurus? No. I left him long ago to forge my army. Sitting and reading philosophy never interested me."

"A warrior born and bred no doubt. And yet you are a learned man. We have spoken at least four languages in the course of this battle and you've moved between them with me without hesitation."

The barbarian stood thoughtfully. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "Enough talk. Our fight is to the death!"

Havron sighed. This one would not be turned aside. It would take beating him again and again all day and likely all night. Much later and the man's army would attack while they were still fighting. Was this the challenge of the demon? Then why did this man seem untouched by evil? Barbaric… yes. Ruthless… definitely. But not evil… not in the same manner that the demon was evil with its fair face and foul deeds.

Havron had to find a way to defeat this man and change his mind. But what? He was one of Aja's children… even as Methos was… his eyes were like Kritis' and he had the gift of creation. He carried the sword that had destroyed Havron's world at the dawn of time… and yet was not touched by it. Havron avoided another clumsy swing… his opponent was tiring but determined to continue the fight. Havron elbowed him as he turned and slammed the staff against the other's neck. He fell like a stone and was still for a moment on the ground before he slowly began to rise again.

"Do you yield?" Havron asked. For some reason he felt concerned about this man… and reluctant to hurt him further.

"I cannot," Darius croaked out and slowly regained his feet. He wavered on them and then leaned down to pick up the sword and it dragged in the earth as he lifted it. Darius wiped the blood from his mouth and wearily shook his head.

Havron paused. Some chance thought was rattling around in his mind… the final answer perhaps to dealing with the demon. Clearly this man wasn't the demon's pawn… perhaps it was his student instead… and perhaps therein lay the answer. To face the student down… Havron would have to kill this man… and he had no interest in that.

Darius lifted his sword. "Again?"

Havron nodded, a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. He would miss the winter solstice this year and for all the years to come. He would miss the return of spring and the cries of the newborn animals and babes. He would miss teasing Methos with riddles. But to defeat the demon and to weaken his hold on the earth… Havron understood what was needed. His own death. Sacrifice was necessary. He'd always known it was… but sacrifice with purpose and a chance to still make a difference in future events had never truly occurred to him. It would just take concentration to make it happen.

Darius lunged… a clumsy and weary attack that had no chance. Havron avoided it, turned and left himself open. Darius sliced furiously… evidently expecting another block. Instead… his blade kissed Havron's neck even as the ancient immortal opened his heart, soul and mind to all life.

-----

Darius stumbled back at the killing blow… so surprised was he that the ancient had not thrown him off once more. Even as the head slowly tilted to one side… a light so gloriously blinding emitted from his neck and Darius covered his ears as the sound of a great rushing wind seemed to accompany it. He fell to his knees as the light… erupted all around him. But unlike Quickenings, which jabbed and stabbed at him or assaulted him on some level… this one hovered white and golden all about him and the wind softened to the sound of voices singing. The quickening coalesced around him like a warm blanket against the winter chill. The ice and snow of the glade melted; the grass greened up and flowers and leaves bloomed. The air felt warm and smelled sweet. Creation was a wonder to behold.

_I am love_, the voice chuckled. _Know me better._

Darius gasped as it entered him and ran along his sinews dancing and singing. His body wanted to sing as well and every fiber of his being replied in syncopation to the melody of love.

_Love changes all things. Love is the power of creation. Love is the gift that makes life possible_.

Images flickered in Darius' mind. Anya… her hair streaked with gray… her eyes green as the ocean… laughing as she ate a strange hard, red-skinned fruit and buried its seeds in the earth. Anya… young and vibrant, wearing only a necklace of shells leaning forward to kiss him. Anya… wrapped in linen and holding a small boy eating dates. She looked up as if she saw Darius and smiled. Everything but her eyes faded. He was in the place… years from now… he saw the buildings go up around him and the people move. Before him a young woman danced to the beat of music as yet unwritten and as old as the stars. Her eyes were green like Anya's. He'd seen her once before in a vision… and on the edge of dreams. She laughed and reached for him. Then she youthened into a child who wove a daisy chain that she offered to the boy eating dates. The boy grew and matured to become his friend Antoninus, the Roman physician. _Methos_, the music whispered with laughter. Methos took the hand of the green-eyed girl, now a young woman once again. Together they danced… in step to the music Darius felt it in his soul. _Love is the answer!_ he wanted to shout. They paused and reached out to him.

The visions ended even as the Quickening comfortably settled within him… more massive and complete than any he had ever taken. The momentary false spring about the clearing was ending and the snow fell once more. But even the winter's snow was worthy of love. Darius gasped and sighed in the warm cocoon of love… and the music he heard whispering in his mind would guide his steps for the remainder of his life.

_Love is the answer, _Havron whispered. _We have work to do._ Darius' journey through the world was over… his real journey was about to begin.

-----

When I was child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  
For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as I am known.  
And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

_The First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians: Chapter 13; verse 11_

**Afterword:**

The outline of this story was complete long before I began it. But as always, some characters had other ideas about some of the events as I wrote, and I struggled to end it as I had initially planned… and with the **_Epilogue_** that bookended with the **_Prologue_**.

There were months when nothing would move on in this story. I'd be at loggerheads with where it was going and with the insistence of the characters that these changes were necessary. As with **_The Shattered Soul_**, characters died who should have lived and a certain immortal could not be saved no matter how much I pleaded with the characters. The truth is… saving her didn't make sense. While there is a strong amount of fantasy and magic in this series, I always strived to keep most of the action as real as possible and to keep events from being too convenient. If there were a problem to be overcome… I had to discover a logical way for the characters to overcome it.

Further, as it became clear that a new installment in the franchise, **The Source** was a definite go and as information about the plot began to leak out, I had to make certain I did not use or refer to any of that… despite the fact that some of what I was doing independently reflected some of the same themes.

I'd wanted a confrontation with Eleanor and Sarah… an event that in the end couldn't happen without serious repercussions. Sarah's eventual fate was far more dramatic than my original plan and actually hearkened back to Aja's death in Darius' arms. I went with it… sad to lose that confrontation, but loving the plot twist that was born of it.

So where to now? Nestor is loose and they have to find him and stop him. All of the principles are in the same place so the final unraveling of the mystery of the artifacts can happen. And that unraveling will send them on a quest to find the answer; an answer which might also hold the solution of dealing with Nestor.

I've made a list of dropped plot elements. All will finally be addressed in the final installment of this series: **_To Seize the Present_**.

-----

**Preview from _To Seize the Present_**

Tuning out the voices of the others still arguing over the computer display, Eleanor settled back on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her as she flipped through **_Les Miserables_**. She could still recall clearly the day she'd bought the book, asked Victor Hugo to sign it… and then had wrapped it to give to Darius. In the intervening years, the priest had marked passages throughout the book… certain sentences that hearkened back to their own escapades at the time of the 1830 revolution and the barricades.

"I knew you talked to him… told him your stories," Eleanor whispered as she grinned. "You two did far more than just play chess." She went to close the book and noticed the two symbols she'd written on the inside front cover. Gently she rubbed a finger over them. Other than Havron's cave, this was likely the only example of the symbols that still remained in writing. She had always taken great care to erase them when she wrote them. "At the end of all things… all shall become one," she whispered with a sigh. She hadn't known what they meant when she'd written them. Darius hadn't seemed to know either.

Eleanor went to close the book. The paper lining of the cover rippled and puckered slightly. She rubbed her hand over it to smooth it. Then she rubbed it again.

Suddenly she raised her hand and snapped her fingers insistently. "Someone get me a letter opener… now!"

**#30#**


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